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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



SONGS OF SU 
AND SHADOW 



By 



JULIAN E. JOHNSTONE 




BOSTON: W. B. CLARKE COMPANY 

PARK STREET CHURCH, PARK &- TREMONT STREETS 
1900 



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P!^» n ; 1900 



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55910 •^^'^^ 

COPYRIGHT, 1899 

BY 

JULIAN E. JOHNSTONE 



StoUOisiiJ (JOi'^t 



GEO. H. ELLIS, PRINTER, 27C CONGRESS ST., BOSTON. 






CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Life and Death 1 

Immoktality 20 

Sea-longings 29 

Lines 31 

The Last Time at the Piano 33 

The Flag of Freedom 36 

The Loom of Life 39 

The Fight of the Lions 42 

Longings 47 

The Darkened Room 49 

The Sea 52 

Dear Niagara 55 

A Sigh for the Long Ago 57 

Sorrows 60 

Tintoretta 63 

Printemps 66 

The Rose of June 68 

Cleopatra to Charmian 70 

The Lion 73 

The Tiger 75 

iii 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Saint Bernard to the Blessed Mary .... 78 

The Sea-fight off Santiago 82 

HiLDEBRAND 89 

Napoleon 96 

Deborah Sampson 99 

Lilac Time 101 

Hermes Trismegistus 103 

Sighing for Summer 105 

The Oriole 107 

The Wild Horses of the Pampas 109 

The Floating Gardens of Mexico 113 

A Song of the Sea 117 

The Virgin Mother 119 

The Deep Green Woods 126 

The Viking's Daughter 128 

The Christian's Trust 131 

On an Autumn Leap found in a Book .... 133 

Dante 136 

The Muse of Poetry 140 

Indian Summer 142 

In Dark December 144 

Maple-sugar Time 146 

A Song of the Iron Lions 148 

Twenty Years 150 

The New-made Grave 153 

The Execution of Marshal Ney 155 

The Men of the Merrimac 161 

iv 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Elfin's Song 166 

All, All is Vanity 168 

War 171 

muriella 176 

A Sermon in Verse 178 

The Torrent 182 

An Offering to Jesus 185 

The Land of Song 186 

A Christmas Canzon 191 

The Queen of Summer 193 

Aeschylus 195 

Inspiration 196 

The Battle of Manila 199 

Life 206 

Give me a Day in the Hills far away . . . 209 

Roses in the Sky 211 

The Suicide 213 

Lilacs 217 

Variel 219 



TO MOTHER 

The roses of summer have left your cheeks, 
And the sunlight of summer your eyes ; 

But the rose in your heart will never depart, 
Nor the light in your soul that lies. 

Whatever of music, mother, I have, 

And whatever of beauty is mine, 
I got it of thee, as I sat at thy knee : 

The music and magic are thine ! 

These songs of my singing, though poor they be. 

And light as the summery breeze, 
I lay at thy feet; and, mother, my sweet, 

I know that the tribute will please ! 



LIFE AND DEATH 

[Written for His Grace, Archbishop Williams' golden jubilee] 

Out of the regions of eternal splendor, 
A spirit garmented and winged with, light, 

The self-existent One, the Father tender, 
Throned amid clouds insufferably bright, 
Evoked, and bidding it with beauty dight 

Into His presence, thus His Words addressed 
To Death, whose robes were woven out of night 

And of the black eclipse beloved the best. 

And Life, who prinked with pearls her variegated 
vest. 

" Spirit of beauty, and of love and light. 

Whose being, formless, but informing runs 
Through all the myriad modes of day and night, 

From the amoeba to the quenchless suns ; 

And thou, fair spirit whom thy sister shuns, 
As sunlight shadow, ye have been to me 

Loyal and faithful as sequestered nuns, 
1 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Since o'er the world I flashed my Majesty, 
And out of chaos called the myriad worlds that 
be! 



" And from eternity, that fountain whence 
All forms that were, or are, or will be, flow, 

My will decrees that golden eloquence 

Which ravishes like vesper winds that blow 
Musk o'er the senses in the world below, 

This day in music dropping from your tongue. 
Shall make this spirit all incarnate glow, 

This lovely spirit innocently young. 

Or follow death to halls with stars and cressets 
hung ! " 

He ceased, and waving his bright diamond wand. 

That on the brilliancy that girt Him round 
Flashed a more vivid light, as on a pond 

Glitters the lightning, bade the spirit, wound 
With flowing splendors and with beauties 
crowned, 
That bloom in rainbows, his sweet lips unlock, — 

The silver sluices of susurrant sound. 
Lips that the sweetest, maddest music mock 
In vain, though Pan himself piped to his fleecy 
flock. 

2 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Then Life arose, a golden exultation 

Flitting and flushing through her limbs of light 
Like summer flashes, that with fine pulsation 

Glimmer through vapors that are warmly bright. 

Life rose, and beaming on the spirit white, 
That trembled like a star involved in mist. 

Eyes that outsparkled all the orbs of night. 
Thus spake, and Powers and Dominations list, 
To catch her words that fell like gleaming amethyst. 

" Spirit, that standest like a silver star. 

Pausing in doubt between the night and day, 

Whether to wander into space afar. 

To worlds where fancies amid rainbows play, 
Or here abide in Heaven's transcendent ray, 

Mine is the power, if choosing to assume 
Bright incarnation like a star in spray, 

Thou wiliest to be mine, to give thee bloom 

And beauty like to that which doth the world 
illume. 

" Yet ere the soft susurrus of Persuasion 
Breathe its sweet music on the tranced soul, 

Seemly is it a vision of creation 

Mine on thy spirit tremulous should roll, 
Informing it with what it would extol. 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Gaze therefore when the wind uplifts the light, 

On yonder orbs, that like a painted scroll 
Unfold their luminations to the sight. 
And flash their pendulous splendor on thy being 
bright. 

" That light with which the earth is circumvested, 

Like lucid diamond or circumfluous gold. 
Those mighty mountains carved in thunder, wrested 
From the black whirlwind when the world was 

old, 
Those glancing waters like an ocean rolled 
Of undulating lightning liquefied, 

And the fair fields with flushing flowers en- 
scrolled. 
All, all are mine, adown the light I glide, 
Walk on the stormy winds, and on the tempest 
ride. 



" Gaze where the sunbow bends its arch of gold. 

And red and amethyst above the hills, 
Like to an aureole that doth enfold 

Some gentle virgin whom a tyrant kills ; 

And where the cataract its splendor spills 
And bellowy thunder in the canyon deep, 

Note the large life and multiform that fills 



LIFE AND DEATH 

The teemmg uplands where the rivers creep, 
And swan-like Commerce sails with proud majes- 
tic sweep. 

" That beauty which like music incarnated, 
And crystallized in variegated forms, 

That bloom with which the woof is permeated 
Of yonder world, and which the splendor warms. 
And kindles into brilliant life that swarms 

Where'er the sunlight glints, — that beauteous 
blush 
Which brightens, vivifies, and then informs 

The starry shapes with loveliness, — all gush 

From those ethereal flames that through my being 
flush. 



" There genius like the elemental splendor 
Of gold dissolving in translucent dew. 

Or shattered diamonds when their spirits render 
Unto the ether their prismatic hue, 
In other forms their being to renew, — 

There genius, hundred-handed, Argus-eyed, 

With spirit which nor Time nor Space can mew. 

Sweeps through the universe with pinions wide, 

Where suns round fiery suns in boundless orbits 
ride. 



LIFE AND DEATH 

" That matchless Love, which is the bright expres- 
sion 

By forms extrinsic of the Soul Supreme, 
That potency which leaves its fine impression, 

And like a thread of lightning runs between 

The fibres of vitality, — that splendid dream 
Through which the earth as through a rainbow 
bright 

Passes in joy, that trembles all a-gleam, 
There lives in bowers with splendid jewels dight, 
Which throw a glory on parti-colored light. 

" Oh ! scorn it not, — 'tis perfume, it is musk. 
With dulcet music softly interfused, 

'Tis starlight tangled in purpurean dusk. 
And by a subtle mystery transfused 
To flaming flowers ; it is wine, infused 

With hydromel, in every panting vein ; 
'Tis witching madness tenderly diffused 

Through every tissue like a fiery rain. 

Passing with kindling light and fever through the 
brain. 

" There Joy abides, not bliss ineffable, 
Ecstatic joys like those obtaining here, 

Where all is placid, deep and equable, 

But rapture tinctured and perfused with fear, 
6 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Which but accentuates and makes it dear, — 
Even as Sunshine, though 'tis ever bright, 

Is trebly beautiful on moor and mere, 
When through the tempest rolling on the night 
The strong young morning pours his fiery floods 
of light. 

" Joy is a rainbow of a thousand tints, 

A restless soul the splendor of whose plumes 

Depends upon the glancing light that glints 
Between the magic meshes, and illumes 
With beams that fall in diamonds through 
blooms 

Of versi- colored beauty : 'tis a sprite 
Mercurial as winds in purple glooms, 

Or scintillations of the stars of night. 

And feeds on music, flowers, and iridescent light. 

" And, O fair spirit, there's a bliss beyond 
The deep strong happiness, secure and mild, 

Or that of loving hearts dissolved in fond 
And languorous embraces, 'tis the wild 
Tumultuous joy that thrills the fro ward child 

Of Nature in her majesty, when night. 

And densest thunder into mountains piled, 

And hurled by the tornado's fearful might 

Across the sky in floods of red tempestuous light, 

7 



LIFE AND DEATH 

" Conspire to form a battle so sublime, 
So wildly grand and so magnificent, 

As ne'er broke forth, since first Titanic Time 
Brake with a thunderburst the firmament 
Of sheeted lightning and of gloom that pent 

His giant spirit in the black abysm 

Of mighty chaos, while the whirlwind blent 

With fire and death rushed through the awful 
schism 

That, with terrific roar, announced a cataclysm. 

" Yet as all Beauty like the guelder-rose 
Is shadowed by its leaves verticillate. 

And set with thorny spines whence sorrow flows. 
So the bright bliss beyond the opal gate 
Of nether life is tarnished with the hate 

And seeming ills that in the dross inhere, 
Or flow from limitations of their state ; 

Seeming, I say, for, in the crystal clear 

Of placid Wisdom seen, they wise and good ap- 
pear. 

*' That grief which darkens with a deep eclipse, 
The unlanguageable beauty of the mind. 

That poignant pain whose pestilential lips 
Feed on the vitals as a fiery wind 
8 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Gnaws the light larch or liquidambar's rind : 
Yea, every form of suffering may be 

Transmuted into flowers of gold refined, 
By Fortitude, that heavenly alchemy 
Whose sublimating power turns dust to brill- 
iancy. 

" Shrink not from Pain : it is the shower of fire, 
Through which the spirit, brightly purified, 

Passes on pinions of sublime desire 

Out of the shadow of Despair and Pride, 
Into the light where Seraphim abide. 

Pain is the path of flame the saints have trod, 
The font baptismal of the Sanctified, 

The thorny coronal and bloody rod 

That smote the sacred flesh of the Incarnate God. 



" Live, and bring genius and sublime endeavor 
And the deep forces of a manful life 

Into the serried lines that fain would sever 
The ranks of Wrong in the eternal Strife 
'Twixt Good and 111, — a war unto the knife. 

Be thou the champion bold, whose trumpet tones, 
Thrilling an age with sin and murder rife. 

Urge Freedom to assume her throne of thrones, 

And turn to pseans of joy a nation's dying groans." 



LIFE AND DEATH 

She ceased, and, lo ! as comets leave behind 
A light of glory in the burning sky. 

Or as the setting sun the ponent wind 
And golden west imprints with every dye, 
Her florid language and enkindling eye 

Fired the bright ether till a rosy streak 

Flushed through its beauty and its brilliancy ; 

She ceased, and, conscious that her words were 
weak, 

Retired, while crimson bloom incarnadined her 
cheek. 

Then Death uprose, and from her mobled brow 
Flung wide her veil as black as thunder-gloom. 

And, oh ! what language can describe the glow ; 
The wondrous beauty and ethereal bloom. 
The light, the music, mingled with perfume, 

That flashed in splendor from her godlike eye ! 
It was as if with a volcanic boom 

A glorious sunburst on a stormy sky 

Blazed with the dazzling sun of Immortality. 

" Ah me ! " she said, " how well can Sophistry, 
With words that sparkle on their rainbow 
wings, 
Dazzle the mind, and by its witchery 

Lead it where'er it lists with silken strings ! 
10 



LIFE AND DEATH 

She is a snake that hides her lightning stings 
Beneath the rose whose rustle drowns her hiss, 

A siren, who bedizened o'er with rings, 
And opal and smaragdus, with a kiss 
Betrays the ill-starred youth she hurls into th' 
abyss ! 

" Oh ! what is earthly Being but the roots, 
The blind amorphous rootlets of that tree 

Whose giant trunk into the heaven shoots, 
Whose leaves are stars of immortality, 
Whose flowers are splendors of eternity ! 

Oh ! what is Life but those bare thunder-blocks 
That frown above a wilderness of sea. 

Above whose sullen roar and angry shocks 

The gorgeous sunbow blooms on Heaven's ethereal 
locks ! 

" Life is the shadow of that light supernal, 
Whose Beauty broken into diamond tints. 

By the pure crystal of the Love eternal, 
Kindles the universe and glows and glints 
On incarnated splendors and imprints 

Its glory on them. Life is the black gloom, 
The stormy darkness of the deep, that hints 

Of suns, extinguished by the blast of doom 

Or swept into oblivion by the red simoom. 

11 



LIFE AND DEATH 

" And what the bliss that life subdial gives, 

To that transcendent and profound delight 
That floods the spirit and forever lives 

In bowers of beauty and eternal light ? 

What is the splendor of the spangled night, 
The lusciousness that lurks in nectarine. 

To those Elysian joys, those glories bright. 
Whose white refulgence from the brow divine 
Floods with aerial gold the flashing hyaline ? 

" Glory ! What is it but a fiery splendor, 
A blazing arch of coruscating flame, 

Reared unto genius or to Beauty tender, 
Until the storm that venerates no name 
Bursts on the scintillating bow of fame, 

And, dashing it to earth, mid clouds of fire. 

Whirls it with scornful breath of burning blame 

Full in the favorite's face, and in its ire 

Turns the triumphal-arch into a funeral pyre ! 

" And Love, what is it but a golden vision, 
A starry exhalation of the night. 

Whose perfumed whisper tells of vales Elysian, 
Paven with sardon3rx and essonite ! — 
But falsely, for those gardens of delight 

Stretch far away beyond the western wave, 

12 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Swept by the tempest in his fiery might, 
And they who for the fruit the storm would brave 
Find naught but marish wells, a desert, and a 
grave. 

" And what is Genius but a glow-worm's light, 

A feeble glimmer in a glen of gloom, 
A beam that like a vein of silver bright 

Runs through the midnight veil of vengeful 
doom; 

It is a flash extinguished by the boom 
That trumpeted its glory to the day ; 

A star, that like sweet music in a room 
Is sweetest as it falls and fades away ; 
A golden statue standing upon feet of clay ! 

" A brilliant Spirit on triumphant wings. 
Wheeling through circles of its own delight. 

Up to the belvedere of Heaven springs. 
And, soaring on to the empyrean height, 
Sweeps through the region of eternal light. 

But, lo ! a sudden tempest on a spire 

Of flame and death arrests his downward flight, 

And, hurtling forward its red bolt of fire, 

Transpierces the proud bird and hurls him in the 
mire. 

13 



LIFE AND DEATH 

" That dazzling Beauty o'er the ether beaming, 
Tliat radiance which instars the ambient air, 

That light in music and in splendor streaming 
On starlets pendulous or rainbows rare, 
That charms the thunder in its gloomy lair, 

What is it to the brilliant brow of Him, 
The transcendental glory of whose fair 

And radiant features makes the sunshine dim, 

And flashes through the world to its remotest 
rim? 

" Oh, how can earthly beauty, faint and fleet, 

Transient as foam bells on a summer stream. 
Or that ethereal translucent sleet 

Of starry silver whose refulgent gleam 

Is evanescent as a rosy dream, — 
Oh, how can beauty which is but a blot, 

A brinded blot upon the brilliant beam 
Of Heaven, compare with Splendor without spot. 
With Light Eternal kindled by Eternal Thought? 

" All earthly forms in gradual transition 

Through birth and beauty pass to pale decay ; 

Pass to Oblivion, and ordained excision 

Through glamours golden and through glimmers 

gay: 
Bloom is the bright ephemeron, whose day 
14 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Sinks in the stagnant wave of endless night ; 

And glory, evanescent as a ray 
Of starshine shivered upon chabasite, 
Fades with the flickering fire that fed its fickle 
light. 

" In vain to brim the heart's unsated calice, 
Their sweetest muscatel such joys distil : 

In vain ! — for oh ! th' insatiable chalice, 
Though all the mulse of love and music fill 
Its beauty to the brim, is thirsty still. 

A deeper bliss, a nectar more divine, 
And supersensual, the cup must thrill, 

Ambrosial dews, ethereal muscadine. 

The vintage virginal of Christ's envermeiled vine ! " 



She ceased, and in the air the warm vibrations 

Of her sweet speech of aspirated gold 
With music filled the sky, and 'luminations. 

And iridescent colors manifold. 

Oh ! 'twas a rapturous vision to behold 
The play of bright prismatic tints that glowed 

Around the music as it onward rolled ; 
For on the crest of every wave there rode 
Aerial hues that changed with every line that 
flowed. 

15 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Then did the Spirit poise itself in air, 

The young-eyed Spirit whom the Father called 

From night and nothingness, and glowing there, 
Before the Everlasting One, who walled 
The lightning in the tempest and enthralled 

The smoking thunder, blushingly began 

His handsel effort, whilst the Powers extolled 

The lovely lights that o'er his beauty ran. 

And diamondizing wings, that trembled like a fan : 

" Father of Light, and Life, and Love, and Pleas- 
ure; 

And ye, fair Princess of the splendid skies. 
Though bliss untold, undreamed of, without meas- 
ure 

Pervades these blooming powers of Paradise, 

And glories glitter that angelic eyes 
Can scarce sustain, yet doth my soul confess 

That incarnated in the world that lies 
Beyond the stars, by merit and by stress 
Of suffering, it would attain this Happiness ! 

" Mine eyes are dazzled with the gorgeous splendor 
That falls around in diamonded showers. 

And sparkles on all sides in glories tender 
Or tints with versi-colored light the flowers. 
That breathe of musk in amaranthine bowers ; 
16 



LIFE AND DEATH 

Mine ears are ravished with the music golden 
That falls in ripples from the topaz towers, 
But yet I would perceive the Unbeholden, 
And tread the fiery path trod by the martyrs 
olden. 

" 'Tis not that glory of which Life hath spoken 

Allures me with its aureole of fire, 
Its rainbow glitter and as diamonds broken, 

Its golden zoster and its jewelled tire ; 

For these are shadows to the rolling spire 
Of flame and splendor that above us whirls, 

And, thrilling with its beams the golden lyre, 
The softest, sweetest, maddest music hurls 
In colored curves that gleam like amethysts and 
pearls. 

" 'Tis not that Beauty lures me with her bloom, 

The starlike splendor of her shining front. 
Her words that gleam like jewels in the gloom. 

And laughing eyes of hyacinthizont ; 

For Beauty's but a dewdrop from the Font, 
The glorious Font of Loveliness and Light, 

'Tis but the shadow of the golden Mont, 
The pale reflection of the lustre bright 
Of Him who holds in equipoise the day and 
night. 

17 



LIFE AND DEATH 

",Nor Love, which in its motion elemental 

Is only Self, sublimed and purified. 
Ah, no ! the union with the Transcendental, 

Where self immersed in God is glorified. 

Is bliss to which all other bliss beside 
Is as the wormwood unto hydromel. 

Is as the murmur of the water-side 
Unto the mighty bursts of song that swell 
In golden storms upon these fields of astrofel. 

" No, if my spirit from its full-orbed splendor 
Would pass through darkness to its chrysalis 

In dull carnation, 'tis that it would render 
The mundane life more mindful of the bliss 
That is the essence and the breath of this. 

'Tis that 'twould wean it from the vile and vernile. 
Translate it far beyond the precipice, 

And so, suffusing it with light supernal, 

Lift it above itself into the Life Eternal. 

" To urge on man the life that's lived in spirit, 
High in the rarest altitudes of soul, 

That just, and purified, he may inherit 
The Life, pre-ordinated as his goal, 
The deathless diadem of self-control. 

Oh ! this be mine ! be this my heavenly mission, 
That in the Book of Gold I may enscroll 
18 



LIFE AND DEATH 

The name of legions, who by sin's elision 

In ecstasy may gaze upon the glorious Vision ! " 

He spake, all bright with rosy perturbation ; 

The splendor flashing through his lucent limbs, 
In the prefulgence of its radiation, 

Surpassing even the white sun that dims 

Each several star that in its glory swims : 
He spake, and golden blushed, as o'er him bent 

Th' approving Deity : — then to the rims 
Of planets ultimate the myriads sent 
A thunder-burst of song that shook the firmament. 

" Glory to God, the Wisdom of the wise, 
The Beauty of the beautiful, the Light 

That was ere Time Titanic in the skies 

Hung his great pendulum, the sun-orb bright, 
The golden arbiter 'twixt Day and Night ; — 

That was, and is, and will be, when the world. 
Shattered and shivered by the thunder's might, 

On fiery blasts to ruin will be hurled, 

Sun, stars, and all, in one tremendous maelstrom 
whirled ! 

NiAGAKA Falls, New York. 



IMMORTALITY 

To-day I saw an eagle die. Afar 

He soared among the clouds, a glorious thing, 
Then swiftly fell, as falls a shooting star, 

Kindling the heavens with its lightning-wing. 

And when the bird lay panting on the ling, 
And closed fore'er his truculent, tierce eye, 

Methought I heard my spirit questioning 
Itself this wise : Shall I, shall I, too, die ; 
No more to soar, nor roll, nor revel through the 
sky? 

"When Death shall come with look of amethyst 
And shall dissolve the wreaths of flesh that 
shroud 
My beauty, as the sun dissolveth mist, 

Shall I spring upward, and beyond the cloud, 
And shine, a star, amid the starry crowd : 
Shall I endure in life lived otherwhere. 
Or shall I perish like the eagle proud, 
20 



IMMORTALITY 

Forever dead unto the light and air, 
To music, beauty, love, and all things good and 
fair? 

Shall soul like Shakespeare or like Dante die : 

Fade like the flowers on a young girl's grave : 
Die like the belted bee, the butterfly. 

Or the weak wind that swoons upon the wave ? 

Shall souls that to their own creations gave 
Immortal life, not be immortal, too : 

Spirits as lofty as high Heaven's nave : 
Shall these Intelligences fade like dew, 
Die like the royal bird, pierced by the bird-bolt 
through ? 

That soul which penetrates transtellar space. 
Measures the interval 'twixt star and star. 

Weighs the stupendous sun, and knows to trace 
The orbits of the satellites afar. 
Each shining like a sphere of satin-spar. 

Or find the globe round which the systems fly ; 
That soul, which springing over hill and scar 

To Heaven, as to its home, shall it, too, die, 

And perish like the body it doth vivify ? 

Shall thought endure, and shall the thinker die : 
Shall Homer's verse for ages yet be read, 

21 



IMMORTALITY 

The heirloom of each wondering century, 

And Homer be irrevocably dead ? 

Shall the great soul that like a sunset shed 
A glory on the world dissolve with it, 

Fade like the fog-bow on the mountain-head, 
Die like the hemlock, rent and thunder-split. 
Or like a carrion-crow cast headlong in a pit ? 

The star, like gold on lightning-wings uprist. 
The star that neither thinks, nor moves, nor 
feels, 

A thing insensate in the purple mist, 

Burns, and will burn as long as Heaven reels 
Beneath the roll of Time's tremendous wheels : 

Yes, it will burn unto remotest time. 
Until the trumpet-note of Ruin peals, 

And shall the mind of man, the soul sublime. 

Endure but as the mist or as the morning rime? 

On desert sands, beside the lordly Nile, 
The far-famed pyramids of Egypt rise : 

The wonder of the world. Each glorious pile 
Lifts its tremendous stature to the skies, 
And time and storm and Heaven itself defies ; 

And shall these monuments of granite last, 

Shall these things live with life that never dies, 

22 



IMMOKTALITY 

While they who reared them in the giant past 
Sleep evermore in dust, in iron Death held fast ? 

The sculptor loves the radiant white form 

He carved of moonlight turned to marble hard : 

The artist gazing on the beauty warm 

Of some fair pictured girl as sweet as nard 
Loves his great masterpiece. So, too, the bard 

Adores his work, and wishes it to last. 
Nor perish utterly like to a shard ; 

And shall the Master mind, the Maker, blast 

His greatest work, the soul, in His own image cast? 

The spirit is a spark from Deity, 

A golden sunbeam of that glorious Light 
That turns the wave to liquid lazuli. 

And laughs to silver all the nave of night. 

And shall this particle, this splendor bright, 
This soft effulgence of the fire of God ; 

Shall it not live, a flame intensely white. 
As liveth He — but like the golden-rod 
Wither and wilt, and fade upon the faded sod ? 

No ! there is that in man which doth defy 

Time, and the despotism of the tomb ; 
And reaching upward to the ambient sky 

23 



IMMORTALITY 

With sunset gold, and flowers of fire, a-bloom, 
And clouds of vaporous ruby that illume 
The world below, soars upward to that Light 

Which moves in rustling music and perfume 
Throughout the universe, and girds with might 
Day with his golden wings and star-resplendent 
Night ! 

That Power which gave the spirit wings to soar 
Beyond the beautiful translucent skies, 

To Heaven's castellated mirador, 

Ne'er meant the soul to such a height should rise 
Only to die, as the poor sparrow dies. 

No, He, who hateth all superchery, 

Ne'er smiled a welcome in His glorious eyes, 

Only to brand the soul with obloquy. 

And bid it sleep fore'er in cold nonentity. 

Two hundred feet adown the iron wall 
Niagara's furious flood and mighty flows ; 

Five rushing seas of rolling thunder fall. 
And, leaping through the iridescent bows, 
Roar with the battle-shout of myriad foes. 

A mountain melting into foaming seas, 
A flood of sapphire and of pearl it glows. 

Wild as a hurricane 'mid forest trees. 

Fierce as volcanic fires that shake the Sicilies. 

24 



IMMORTALITY 

But not Niagara can satisfy, 

Nor great Yosemite, where mountains grand 
Rise to the very roof-tree of the sky : 

Stupendous pyramids of granite planned 

And reared in thunder by the Titan's hand : 
ClifPs over which the tempest never rings 

Nor flies its flag of lightning : crags that stand 
So high, the flood that down the mountain springs, 
Two thousand feet below its rushing thunder 
flings. 

Nor Intellect itself can satisfy ; 

For Mind is finite, and can ne'er control 
The secrets recondite of sea and sky, 

The reason of the stars that round us roll, 

Nor say what life is, nor explain the soul. 
At every step it meets an obstacle. 

And far from reaching its ulterior goal, 
Oft grown despondent, dark, and sceptical, 
Loses itself in night, and Doubt's black debacle. 

Nothing below can satisfy the sprite ; 

Love, beauty, fame, nor riches manifold : 
These make the sphere wherein we move more 
bright, 
But are mere tinsel where we look for gold. 
True pleasure's counterfeit, as base as bold. 
25 



IMMORTALITY 

And since no joy terrestrial can fill 

The soul that yearns for happiness untold, 
There must be purer bliss, which, by God's will, 
In regions otherwhere the sun-clad soul will 
thrill. 

For everything fulfils its destiny, 

And has its wants and requisites supplied : 

The light gives life and vigor to the tree, 
The fagot food to fire, the throbbing tide 
Is fed by torrents from the mountain-side. 

All things attain their fulness and their height 
Except the soul of man : this neither pride 

Of power, nor wealth, nor glory can delight, 

For still it throbs for life beyond the realm of 
night. 

For life it yearns, immortal life beyond 

The sphere of mundane and contingent things ; 

For life, in love's bright dome of diamond. 
Where Music catches on her flashing wings 
Ten thousand colors, and around her flings 

Roses of song, that with their fragrance fill 
The golden air, — exultant life that springs 

Like morning on the amethystine hills. 

And with its rivery rhyme the halls of Heaven 
thrills. 

26 



IMMORTALITY 

For life it yearns with that transcendent power 
Which domed with light the spacious firmament, 

Infused a star-like splendor in the flower, 

And carved the mountain-pillars, lightning-brent. 
That God who shadows with His palliament 

Of filmy gold the sun-strewn universe. 

And beautified the earth's broad dimplement, 

Despite man's treason, and the crimson curse 

Of vice, that in its whirlpool all things would im- 
merse. 

And it shall live ; yea, spirit shall persist 
In soothfast splendor when the glorious sun 

And all the stars of fire and amethyst 
Shall rush to crashing ruin every one. 
And the world's work forevermore be done. 

Yes, suns will die and systems fade away, 
And earth in vortices of flame be spun, 

But spirit will endure, a light for aye, 

A diamond flashing gold in God's transplendent 
ray. 

Yea, spirit shall outsoar the awful night 

That on the wreck of systems shall descend. 

And shall upshoot, a glorious shaft of light. 
Until it springs where darkness shall have end 
And high o'erhead the rainbowed heavens bend. 
27 



IMMOKTALITY 

There in the beauty of the God triune, 

Wherein all splendors in the highest blend, 
The soul will bask, or in the plenilune 
Of love with the elect have sisterly commune. 

Oh, let me so believe ! Oh, let me think 
That death is not oblivion, but a mist 

That shrouds as with a veil of sunset pink 
The soul as lovely as a pale sunrist, 
Till by the starshine of God's glory kissed 

It soars above the golden heights beyond : 
There amid fields of asphodel and cist, 

To dwell in love as pure as diamond, 

With God and those sweet souls we hold in 
memory fond. 



SEA-LONGINGS 

[To Louise Chandler Motjlton] 

I LONG for the keen salt air of the sea, 
And the Titans' tumult and thunder ; 

And the solemn strength and sublimity 
Of the songs of the sea-gods, under. 

For the song, I long, of the sea-gods strong, 
And the vigorous blow and bluster ; 

The leap and sweep of the billows along, 
And the stormy light and the lustre. 

For the white-winged ships that sail in the sun, 
And the white- winged waves that bear them ; 

For the yachts that over the waters run. 
And the breezes that race and dare them. 

I long for the sight of the sea-gulls free. 
And the wash and swash of the waters ; 

For the surf and spray of the salty sea. 
And a glimpse of the dark sea-daughters. 
29 



SEA-LONGINGS 

And the fisher's note and the fisher's boat, 
And the voice of the piping plover ; 

For the foam and fume, and the weeds that float, 
And the loomgale hurrying over. 

For I was born by the boisterous sea ; 

And its storm and thunder and madness 
Are deep in the blood and the heart of me, 

Its music and sunlight and sadness. 

And I love the waves, with their rush and roar. 
As the gier-eagle loves the mountains ; 

As the wild wolf white loves the northern shore. 
And the sun-bird southerly fountains. 

NiAGABA TA-LI.S. 



LINES 

[Written on the recovery of a feeautiful child] 

Bird of the summer-time sing 

With thy voice velvet soft as the rose is : 
Bird of the summer-time bring 

To my heart all the mirth of July, 
For the cheeks that were pale are now pink, 

Yes, pink as the bud that uncloses, 
And the lips that were white are red now 

As roses of fire in the sky ! 

Bird of the summer-time sing. 

For the heart in my bosom is dancing. 
Dancing for very delight 

That the dead is brought back from the tomb 
Dancing for joy that the eyes 

That had lost all their glitter and glancing. 
Now gleam and now beam and darkle, 

And sparkle like gems in the gloom. 

Bird of the summer-time sing. 

Oh, sing in thy happiest measure, 
31 



LINES 

For the light that went out has revived, 
And is shining and streaming afar : 

Pour all the gold of thy heart out, 

For my soul has recovered its treasure. 

Day has recovered its sunshine, 
And night its most beautiful star ! 

Bird of the summer-time sing. 

For the soul of the summer that slumbered 
Has come back to brighten and lighten 

The gold and greenth of the glen. 
Sing for my Palace-of-Pearl, 

My own little girl that was numbered 
With the dead, has returned to the living. 

And gladdens my pulses again. 

Bird of the summer-time sing. 

For no longer there's sorrow nor sadness : 
Sing of the lilacs of May 

And the royal red roses of June ; 
Sing till the neighborhood ring, 

For the world is a world full of gladness, 
A song made of sapphire and silver, 

And sung to a silvery tune. 



THE LAST TIME AT THE PIANO 

Across the room with feeble steps and slow, 
To where her dearly loved piano stood, 

The young girl went, oh, whiter than the snow, 
And weaker than a wand of willow-wood. 

A beauty once, but beautiful no more. 

With hollow cheeks and sad and languid eyes. 

And limbs that scarce could bear her o'er the floor, 
And hands through which one might perceive 
the skies. 

She sate her down, and lightly o'er the keys 
Ran her white fingers, till they charmed to gold 

The noble instrument, and melodies 

As sweet as songs of seraphim out-rolled. 

O God ! those sounds, how beautiful they were ! 

How rich, how sweet, how silver-soft they fell ! 
It seemed as if all Heaven sang to her, 

And every star there was a tinkling bell. 
33 



THE LAST TIME AT THE PIANO 

And in the room there was a fragrance fine, 
Like that of roses or of balsams sweet, 

As if the music of young Angel ine 

Fell down in flowers all around her feet. 

And, oh, her face, her thin, transparent face I 
How bright it shone, like living, glowing gold, 

As if, by virtue of interior grace, 

She chanced the smile of Jesus to behold. 

Then to her mind there came another song, 
A song of summer skies and summer seas : 

A song she loved to sing when she was strong 
Unto the one whom she was proud to please. 

Sweetly and sadly rose the olden strain. 
But died away into a hollow moan. 

While in her face there came a look of pain, 
And to her lips there came a sob and groan. 

Then standing up, with arms above her head, 
The lily maiden looked unto the skies : 

" O Father, take me to Thyself ! " she said. 
The tears suffusing her once lustrous eyes. 

And, bowing her little head above the keys. 
She sobbed, and shut the instrument fore'er ; 
34 



THE LAST TIME AT THE PIANO 

And thus it stands, with frozen melodies, 
As when she closed it with her fingers fair. 

Then to her bed the lily maiden went, 
And veiled her little weary eyes for aye ; 

For o'er her couch the great archangel bent, 
And kissed her beautiful white soul away. 



THE FLAG OF FREEDOM 

Flag of the fair and free, 

Flag of the brave of old, 
Long may you be the queen of the sea, 
The glorious flag of Liberty, 

And unfold. 
To the gold of the light unrolled, 
The stars and the bars and the beauty bold, 

And wave for the brave, 

Who would die to save 
Thy fame unsoiled by the touch of a slave ; 

Then glow and blow 

Where the torrents flow. 
And the eagle screams o'er the world below ! 

Flag that our fathers bore 

Through the fiery storm of fight, 
And the battle's roar, that the lightnings tore, 
In the fearful march to Georgia's shore, 

In the sight 
Of the fire balls bright, and the shells of night 

36 



THE FLAG OF FREEDOM 

In the glorious warfare for the right : 

Oh, wave, for the slave 

They died to save 
No longer wears the fetters of the knave ; 

But free as we, 

As the bounding sea, 
He walks in the broad light of Liberty ! 

Flag of the League of States, 

Flag of the brave and free, 
From the northern straits to the golden gates, 
And the lotus land and the land of dates 

O'er the sea. 
May you be, on lock and lea. 
The standard sheet of purity ; 

Of truth, and ruth 

And a hardy youth 
Exulting in their bloom and blooth, 

And right and light 

That love to smite 
The Prince of Anarchy and Night ! 

Flag of the palm and pine, 

Flag of the mountain-ash. 
Long may you shine on the booming brine. 
When the war-ships blaze in battle-line 
'Mid the flash 

37 



THE FLAG OF FREEDOM 

And the crash, when the gunboats clash, 
And thunderbolts through the tempest dash, 

And boom in the gloom 

Of the red simoom, 
That screams in the storm with the shriek of 
doom, 

Till the roar is o'er 

On sea and shore 
And Victory lights on thee once more ! 



THE LOOM OF LIFE 

Beside a loom of thundering boom 

An angel in cloth of gold 
Sat weaving the tissue of human souls, 

His task appointed of old ; 
And ever like lightning the shuttle flew, 

And ever with thunderous roar, 
The mighty loom in the working-room 

Went on with rattle and blore. 

And as the web from the yarn-beam rolled, 

A seraph with glittering shears 
Cut it, and dipped it in molten gold 

Or steeped, and stained it in tears : 
Dipped it, and dyed it in crimson warm, 

Or scarlet and amethyst, 
Or wet it with drops from a thunder-storm ,- 

But this one ever he kissed. 

And some of the yarn reeled off was fine, 
As fine as a silken twist ; 
39 



THE LOOM OF LIFE 

Fragile and fine as the golden line 

That shoots through the morning mist. 

And othersome, and the most, by far, 
Was a weft of coarser thread ; 

But all was bright as the silvern star 
That beams and gleams overhead. 

And many a figure of strange device, 

And pattern of quaint design 
Were woven in with a skill precise. 

By Ariel fingers fine. 
Baroque mosaics in red and blue, 

Embroideries, rich in gems, 
Morisco work of various hue, 

And beautiful anadems. 

But over them all, and under them all, 

Like the white light in the skies. 
Was His face who built the mountain wall. 

And mingled the rainbow dyes. 
Yes, whether in fabric coarse or fine, 

In soul of poet or slave, 
God's image shone, as the heavens shine. 

In the rimpled, dimpled wave. 

Rattled and brattled away the loom. 

The yarn through the heddles flew ; 

40 



THE LOOM OF LIFE 

And the shuttles shot through all the boom, 
Like the gold-light through the blue. 

It was the soul of a genius now, 

That rolled like gold on the reel, 

And the rose-light flushed the angel's brow, 
As the furnace-light does steel. 

Finer than silk was the fabric spun, 

And rich with bezetta red. 
The gold and blue of the setting sun, 

Or the rainbow overhead. 
But, ah ! the colors were splotched with tears, 

With thunder-drops they were wet ; 
And a hideous troop of griefs and fears 

On the soul was limned in jet. 

Poor hapless spirit ! the angel sighed, 

Thou art of that godlike band 
That are formed to be their country's pride 

And the glory of the land. 
Beauty and splendor of soul is thine. 

Grandeur and music and light ; 
But, ah ! thy years shall be full of tears, 

Grief and the darkness of night. 



THE FIGHT OF THE LIONS 

[To Captain Edwabd Johnstone] 

With a rush and a roar 

Like the waves on the shore 

When the thunderbolt yells 

With a voice loud as hell's, 
Two Libyan lions leaped out of the night, 
Leaped out of the woods with a crash and a dash 
And tore o'er the desert that gleamed in the flash 
Of the moon that made all the plain white. 

On, with the speed of the storm they flew, 

Mighty monsters tremendous in thew ; 

Sides of iron and cords of wire, 

Muscles of brass and eyes of fire ; 

Throats of thunder and bones of steel. 

Hearts of granite too hard to feel : 

A lioness one and a lion the other. 

The devil's dam, and the devil's brother. 

But, lo ! as along they storm and bound, 

Shaking the quaking, quivering ground, 

42 



THE FIGHT OF THE LIONS 

Fuming and foaming, and breathing fire, 
Blacker than thunder-clouds in their ire. 
Another lion from the jungle creeps, 
And out on the moonlit desert leaps, 
And swift in the track of the tempest sweeps. 
Fleet as meteors in the sky- 
Over the sand-dune the lions fly : 
Breathing hard like a furnace red. 
As on they bound o'er the desert dead. 
On for a mile they tear o'er the plain 
Wild as the torrents swol'n with rain. 
Over the sand they scurry like death. 
And the frightened forest holds its breath. 
The tiger's heart in his breast is still, 
The leopard's blood in his veins grows chill, 
As they look through the brush with a fearful 

eye 
At the wild tornado thundering by. 
But see ! the beast that is in the rear 
With every bound comes rapidly near, 
Till the other, conscious of swift pursuit. 
Turns in his traces to meet the brute, 
The lioness sinking upon the sand 
To breathe, and gaze on the battle grand. 
A moment the lions each other eye, 
Lashing their sides most furiously, 
Their bristling manes like a ruff erect, 

43 



THE FIGHT OF THE LIONS 

Their brindled hides with foam beflecked. 

One moment the twain collect their strength, 

Then a quiver runs through their awful length ; 

A low growl swells to a mighty roar, 

Like that of winds on a rocky shore. 

Then they grasp the earth in their iron claws 

And spring in the air with open jaws. 

Like two dense clouds in the stormy sky, 

Like ships-of-war on the ocean high, 

Like two great demons begot in hell, 

The monsters meet with a fearful yell. 
Full in mid air the furious foes 
Crash with a terrible shock that throws 
Them back on the sand a yard or more, 
Their shaggy breasts beflecked with gore. 
Another yell, and another spring, 
And all their thunderous weight they fling 
Full at the other, and give such strokes 
As would shatter pines and stagger oaks. 
With eyes that blaze and with teeth that gnash 
Again they meet with an awful crash, 
Tear each other with fangs and claws. 
And crunch their bones in their iron jaws : 
Grapple and wrestle, and grind and growl. 
Battle and batter, and rage and howl. 
Over and over the sands they roll, 
Fiercer than fire in the devil's bowl, 

44 



THE FIGHT OF THE LIONS 

Biting and smiting, the bloody dust 

Whirling around in a stormy gust. 

Over an hour on the moonlit sand 

The Titans struggle in battle grand, 

Puffing and panting like engines vast, 

Frothing and foaming, and bleeding fast. 

Weaker and weaker the combat grows, 

Lighter and lighter now fall the blows. 

Swifter and swifter the life-blood flows, 

Till reeling round on the sand they snap 

And tumble and snarl, and scratch and slap. 

Then once again they grapple and grip 

And deal each other a savage clip. 

Express their hate in a dying roar. 

And fall together to rise no more. 

There in their weltering gore they lie, 

Puffing, and panting painfully. 

Feebly lifting a bloody paw 

To strike each other on breast and jaw : 

An awful picture of massive strength 

Reduced to powerlessness at length. 

Nearer together the giants crawl. 

And in their mutual hatred maul 

And tear each other, till life is fled, 

And the twain on the sands lie stark and dead. 

Then the female stretches herself, and yawns, 

Her tawny hide as slick as a fawn's, 

45 



THE FIGHT OF THE LIONS 

Over to where the monsters lie 
In their grumous blood walks lazily, 
Sniffs at the bodies, then o'er them strides. 
And out on the moonlit desert glides. 



LONGINGS 

Oh, give me the flush of the rosy morn 
And the flash of the sun on the sea, 
And the blush of the haws on the black of the 

thorn, 
And a run in the sun o'er the countryside dun, 
With a horse speeding on like a shot from a gun, 
And a fence to leap over that others would shun, 
And I'll laugh at the rich in my glee. 

Oh, give me the sweep of a tight canoe, 
On the deep of an opal lagoon. 
And the light aloft in the welkin blue 
And the whirl and the swirl of the waters of pearl, 
And the silvery laugh of a light-hearted girl. 
And the lilt of the lark or the music-mad merle, 

And for fame I'll not give a doubloon. 

Oh, give me a day 'mong the firs and pines 
With the play of the sun and the shade ; 
And a shot at the moose with his towering tines 

47 



LONGINGS 

As lie bounds from the hounds through the glim- 
mering grounds, 

And the wood with the bark and the bellow re- 
sounds, 

As he battles for life with the foe that surrounds, 
And enrages him out on the glade. 

Oh, give me the breeze of the Berkshire hills, 
And the leas with their stubble of fogge ; 
And the rush and the roar of the mountain-ghylls. 
And the fume and the boom like the roar of doom 
Of the flashing flood through the foaming flume 
And the sweep and leap through the shine and 
gloom. 
And the rave of the waves on the bog. 

Oh, give me to ramble a summer's day 

Through brake and bramble, through field 
and fell. 
My heart attuned to the music of May, 
And my steps full as free as the wind on the lea. 
As the bee in the bush, as the bird in the tree ; 
For this is the life, without trouble or dree. 
That a gypsy like me loves so well ! 



THE DARKENED ROOM 

Deep in my heart hung round with sable sorrow, 

Within the silent chamber of the dead, 
Low lieth she, for whom the young May morrow 
Its scent hath vainly shed. 

There on her snowy couch the snowy maiden, 

Her golden hair upon the pillow spread, 
With fairest flowers and whitest lilies laden. 
In shimmering silk lies dead. 

Silent the tongue whence golden music bubbled. 
Fled from the lip the smiles that were its soul ; 
Closed the bright eyes, as blue as skies untroubled 
By the long thunder's roll. 

Frozen the marble brow the lips of lover 

In ardent roseal kiss had never pressed ; 
Waxen the hands as pure as Heaven above her. 
Upon her lily-breast. 
49 



THE DARKENED ROOM 

Hush, O my spirit ! let no sound of weeping 
Disturb the silence of this sacred ground ; 
Let not a sob disturb the maiden's sleeping, 
The maiden slumber bound ! 

Softly, step softly in this house of sorrow, 

Lightly, bend lightly o'er the sainted dead ; 
See how her face new loveliness doth borrow, 
As 'twere transfigured. 

Starlight, if frozen and if finely fashioned 

By angel hands into a form divine. 
Were scarce so beautiful, so unimpassioned. 
As this, our Geraldine. 

Oh, I have chambers in my soul whose splendor 

Outshines the halls of Solomon of old ; 
Chambers to furnish which the West doth render 
Its amethyst and gold. 

But there is one whose draperies so gloomy 

And paraments as dark as stormy skies 
I love, — one hall more sweet than gardens bloomy. 
Where my dear sister lies. 

Ah, well it is that in the closed recesses 
Of our still souls there is a darkened room, 

50 



THE DARKENED ROOM 

Where lietli low a maid whose yellow tresses, 
And lips have lost their bloom. 

One on whose brow the record of her beauty, 

Still faintly traced like softened splendor lies, 
To teach with silent lips the law of duty, 
And lift us to the skies. 



THE SEA 

The sea, the sea, how sweet to me the breath of 
the salty sea, 

The cry of the white gulls in the sky, that wheel 
exultantly; 

The wash and swash of the rolling surf as it 
rushes up on the reach, 

The rave and roar and fume and blore of the bil- 
lows along the beach ! 

The sea, the sea, how sweet to me the bounding, 

pounding sea. 
The ships of the line on the foaming brine, and 

the fair flag floating free ; 
The blustering blow of the winds that go o'er the 

white waves marching on. 
With the stately rime and measured time of the . 

Cossacks along the Don ! 

The sea, the sea, how dear to me the hearty, 

healthful sea ! 
With its cooling balm from isles of palm that far 

in the distance be ; 

52 



THE SEA 

Its sweeping song, so deep and strong, of Hope 

and Youth and Love, 
And its solemn praise through all its days of the 

God that rules above ! 

The sea, the sea, how sweet to me the booming, 

glooming sea ! 
With the ring and swing of the plunging bell as 

it calls out warningly ; 
The fishers' song as they row along with strong 

arms brown and bare. 
And the plover's cry and the petrel shy as they 

cut through the summer air ! 

The sea, the sea, how dear to me the wild, un- 
trammelled sea. 

With its mighty sweep and awful deep and its 
moving majesty ; 

Its organ tones from the rocks and stones that 
deep in the caverns lie. 

Its anthem loud to the rolling cloud and the 
arching heavens high ! 

The sea, the sea, O ye who be infirm, come out 

to the sea. 
When the breezes blow and the breakers flow 

and the scud is flying free ; 

53 



THE SEA 

And the salty air, and tlie vigor rare of the leap- 
ing, sweeping brine. 

Will whirl your blood in a bounding flood through 
your. veins as red as wine ! 

The sea, the sea, oh, I love to be on the broad 

back of the sea. 
In a tight, trim skiff, when the wind is stiff and 

the waves foam wrathfully ; 
For the moving flood excites the blood, and fills 

the heart with joy, 
And makes the old man young again, and makes 

the youth a boy ! 

The sea, the sea, oh, I love to be forever beside 

the sea. 
And hear the plash and dash and splash of the 

waters stretching free ; 
For I love its song so deep and strong, as I love 

the bugle's blast. 
Its measured stride and plumes of pride like an 

army marching past ! 



DEAR NIAGARA 

Often in my dreams, dear Niagara, I'm back again, 

Back to thy waters that go thundering below ; 
Often in my dreams I can see the blackmack again 
Flying o'er the flood in the sun's rubescent 
glow. 
O my love, I can see the waters shimmering ; 

O my heart, I can see the mighty flow ; 
Light of my life, I can see the rainbow glimmer- 
ing 
Down there in the river, where the waves are 
white as snow ! 

Leaping down the ridge, I can see the torrents 
flash again, 
Gold in the sunlight and silver in the moon; 
And I can hear the reverberating crash again, 

As the foaming freshets thunder on the dune. 
O my life, how I love the water glittering, 

Love thy sunsets, purple and maroon ; 
Heart of my heart, I can feel my pulses flittering, 
Throbbing for thy love, like a blooming bride 
in June ! 

55 



DEAR NIAGARA 

Over in the orchard the apple-trees are pink again, 

Dainty is the primrose, the sassafras is sweet : 
Hark ! I can hear the golden bobolink again 

Singing to the lavender a-ljing at his feet. 
O my love, the happy, happy days I spent, 

Heart of my heart, in that beautiful retreat ; 
O my life, the music and the pierriment, 

Down there in the garden where the rivulets 
meet ! 

Glorious Niagara ! Niagara the beautiful ! 

Thou art the jewel, the diamond of the West ! 
And all thy children, so loyal and so dutiful, 

Laud thee and honor thee, and love thee the 
best ! 
O my love, I long to see thy halls again. 

For my heart is full of all unrest ; 
Light of my life, I long to see the falls again. 

Once again, for thou indeed art Paradise the 
Blest ! 



A SIGH FOR THE LONG AGO 

The light is up in the morning, 

And the lark is up in the blue, 
And his silvery notes float downward 

Like musical drops of dew. 
I stand at my lattice listening, 

And I would that I felt the joy, 
To see the sun and hear the song. 

That I felt when a little boy ; 
For the light is soft and golden. 

And the music is golden, too, 
But somehow they fail to move me 

As they used to when life was new. 

The breeze comes into the garden 
With the scent of the red, red rose. 

And the balm of the crimson balsams 
That wake from their night repose ; 

The breeze comes in from the garden, 
And its breathing is soft and cool, 
57 



A SIGH FOR THE LONG AGO 

For it dipped its wings in passing 
In the wave of a pearly pool ; 

And it kisses mine aching eyelids 
And my throbbing temples white, 

But ah me ! for the old-time breezes, 
And the old, old-time delight ! 



The Beverly Bells are ringing, 

And their sound is silvery clear. 
And the rime and chime and the cadences 

Fall soothingly on mine ear ; 
The robins all are astir below, 

The juniper-birds above. 
And all is bright in the morning light, 

And is kind and sweet as love. 
But the Bells of Beverly ringing. 

And the bobolinks chirming low, 
Awake in my heart no music 

Like the music of long ago ! 

Oh, what was the charm of the old time, 
That everything then could please ? 

Was the old-time light a softer light, 
Or greener the old-time trees ? 

Had the birds of boyhood sweeter songs, 
Or the buds a brighter bloom, 
58 



A SIGH FOR THE LONG AGO 

Or the lavender and tlie lilac-boughs 

A more divine perfume ? 
I know not ; I cannot make answer, 

But down in my heart I know 
That I miss in to-day the glory 

I felt in the long ago. 



SORROWS 

Out of hopes like jewels shattered, 
Out of rosy wishes scattered 
Like the bloomy buds of crimson deflowered by 
the breeze ; 
Out of tears, and out of sorrow 
Rise the splendors of the morrow, 
Rise the purple-tinted promises of purer things 
than these. 

Not until the sapphire splendid, 
From the rock of granite rended, 
'Neath the hand is chipped and chiselled, comes 
the perfect jewel bright ; 
Not until the shark is daunted 
In the waters devil-haunted 
Comes the diver with his pearl-stones gleaming 
like the stars of night. 

Not until his heart is breaking 
Sings the nightingale, awaking 



SORROWS 

All the wondering world with music such as 
Heaven's self might claim; 
Not until the fiery flowers 
Of the heavens fall in showers 
Shine the skies in all the rushing and the flushing 
of their flame. 

Out of toiling cometh treasure, 
Out of grieving cometh pleasure, 
Out of winter cometh spring-time with its blos- 
soms, and its birds ; 
Out of darkness and of glooming 
Cometh beauty, cometh blooming, 
Cometh poesy, perfuming all the garden with her 
words. 

From the camp of dark disaster 
Comes the conqueror, the master ; 
From the training-school of sorrow comes the 
genius and the sage ; 
Come the mighty men who find them 
Noble names to leave behind them. 
Come the men who make the nation and illuminate 
her page. 

Grieve not, then, that thou dost sorrow, 
For 'tis given thee to borrow 
61 



SORROWS 

Strength to fight upon the morrow in the everlast- 
ing press. 
Disappointments, sad and sadder, 
Are but rounds unto the ladder 
That is ever reaching upward to the turrets of 
success. 



TINTORETTA 

She was leading her steed to water, 

A black-eyed Bohemian daughter, 

And her lord, the chieftain who brought her 

From the Land of the Sun, stood by : — 
A sun-brown gypsy girl, slender. 
But no queen hath the grace nor splendor 
Of her face, nor the beauty tender 

Of her beaming, gleaming eye. 

Oh, her beauty of olivaster 

Made my pulsatile heart beat faster. 

And the faces of all who passed her 

Looked back at the dusky pearl ; 
For the elegant calice-bearer 
Of the Thunderer was not fairer. 
Nor had coloring richer, rarer, 

Than this dark Egyptian girl ! 

Her lips of carroon, and her wimple 
With its gold galloon, and her simple 
63 



TINTORETTA 

Attire of maroon with the rimple 

Of her lustreless blue-black hair, • 
And the lace on her cap, the splendor 
Of her face in its innocence tender. 
And her grace, all combined to render 
The maid bewitchingly fair. 

A girl from the land of the flowers, 
A girl from the land of the showers. 
Of the mocking-birds and the bowers, 

With the crimson haws and hips. 
She bore in her bosom its myrtle, 
She wore its red rose on her kirtle, 
And the scent of its valleys fertile 

Exhaled from her rose-pink lips. 

She was kind as the skies above her ; 
For the children broke from their cover, 
A sign that the cherubs all love her, 

At sight of her beauty bright. 
And, forming a circle around her, 
In a garland of roses wound her, 
In fetters of floramour bound her. 

While she laughed, and her laugh was light. 

Oh, never in hall nor pavilion, 
A-dancing the merry cotillion, 
64 



TINTORETTA 

With velvety cheeks of vermilion, 

Have I seen lady like her : 
Not even the beautiful Hester, 
With her laughing lips of samester, 
And the many charms that invest her 

With a fragrance sweet as myrrh. 

Not the water where swims the allis, 
Not the lilium with its chalice 
Of gold, nor the beautiful palace 

Of Cynthia, pale as pearl, 
Nor the sweet and modest melissa. 
Nor the sunbeams golden that kiss her, 
Nor the birds that at even miss her, 

Were pure as this gypsy girl. 

Yet a man without mind or morals, 

Whose bosom is vile as orrels, 

And who loves his roans and his sorrels 

Far more than he loves the maid. 
Is the husband, monarch, and master 
Of this woman of alabaster, 
With the fragrance of adelaster 

In her glossy, flossy braid. 



PRINTEMPS 

Awake, heart of mine, with the heart of Nature 
wake, 
And sing, for the hills and the rills have found 
a voice ; 
Awake, for the skies their burning banners shake. 
And the brake and the lake in the sunny light 
rejoice ! 

Oh, sing, heart of me, for the lilacs are in bloom ; 

Sing, for their redolence is scenting all the air ; 
Sing, for the rivulets are flashing in the flume, 

And down in the valleys the liliums are fair ! 

Oh, sing, for the freshets are leaping down the rocks. 
And school-boys are skipping and tripping o'er 
the lea : 
The catbird's about, and the bobolink he mocks, 
And the blossoms of April are pink upon the 
tree ! 



PRINTEMPS 

The primulas blow, where a month ago was snow 
The crocus and jonquil are glinting in the glen ; 

And the bold, gold daffodils their gypsy faces show 
By the hill and the rill that runs gayly to the 
fen. 

Oh, sing, for there's balm and there's vigor in the 
breeze, 
And the blood in a flood through the purple 
veins is whirled ; 
And the bird in the heart, like the bird among the 
trees, 
Gives voice to the joy that is felt throughout the 
world ! 

Oh, sing, for the lambs o'er the ripple grasses run, 
And the brass-backed bees, and the butterflies 
are here : 

Sing, for the robins are a-whistling in the sun, 
And the lavrock is lilting a song to his dear ! 

Oh, sing, heart of mine, for the winter-time is past. 

And spring with its ling and its lavender is here : 

The storm-light is gone, and the warm-light come 

at last ; 

And the breezes blow their balm on the calm of 

the mere ! 

67 



THE ROSE OF JUNE 

[To Maby Elizabeth Blake] 

Sing loud, O lark, in the cloud, 
Sing clear, O bird, in the breer, 

For the red, red rose that blows and glows, 
The red, red rose is here ; 

The red, red rose that blows and glows 
Where the rillet flows is here. 

Sing soft, O breeze, aloft. 

Sing low, O wind, in the lane, 

For the oriole, with his golden soul, 
And the finch are here again ; 

The oriole, with the golden roll 
Of his song, is here again. 

The finch is here from the south 

With his witching melodies, 
And the bobolink and the merry spink 

With their songs of the southern seas ; 
The merry spink in the blossoms pink 

With his songs of the summer seas. 



THE ROSE OF JUNE 

Burn red, O sun, o'erhead ; 

Run down from the hills, O rills, 
With a whirl and swirl, and birl and curl, 

And a purl like the merle that trills ; 
With a whirl and swirl and lisping purl, 

Like the melting merle that trills. 

For the rose of June is here. 

The red, red rose of June, 
And the dells and fells and sunlit swells. 

Like to bells, are all atune ; 
The dells and fells and sylvan cells, 

Like to bells, are all atune. 

Then sing, O bird, in the ling. 
And wake, O lark, in the brake, 

Till the heavens ring with the joy you bring 
And the sirens rise from the lake ; 

Till the heavens ring with the song you sing 
And the sirens spring from the lake. 



CLEOPATRA TO CHARMIAN 

Let the melting music golden 

Flood and flash and float around : 
Sing me of the glories olden 

Of this ancient battle-ground : 

Sing of beauty, sing of pleasure, 

Sing of love, or sing of treasure, 

Till you fill and thrill my leisure 

With the spirit of the sound. 

Oh, the wine of life ! it flushes 

And it flashes and it gushes. 

Through the burning blood that blushes 

At the sense of its own bliss : 
Oh, the glances in the dances 
And the music that entrances, 
And the breeze that in the hushes 

Bears the perfume of a kiss ! 

Sing of Ramses and his glory, 

How he conquered with his glance : 
70 



CLEOPATRA TO CHARMIAN 

How the warrior bore the hoary- 
Earth upon his mighty lance. 

And of Tothmes sing the splendor, 

Tothmes terrible, yet tender, 

Ever willing with his slender, 
Dark-eyed damoselles to dance ! 

Oh, the dancing and the whirling 
Of the dancers, and the twirling 
And the dizzy wheeling, swirling 

Of the music mad with joy ; 
And the glancing and the gleaming 
Of the lustres, and the beaming 
Of the jewels in the curling 

Locks of every maid and boy ! 

Why so merry? Ask the river 
Why it sparkles in the light ; 

Ask the palm-trees why they quiver 
When the breeze is sweet and slight ; 

Ask the vermeil vase of roses. 

Ask the lotus that reposes 

On the wave why she uncloses 
When the sun is warm and bright. 

Oh, the charm of love, the beating 
Of the purple pulse, the meeting, 
71 



CLEOPATRA TO CHARMIAN 

And the magic kiss of greeting, 

That upon the spirit lives ; 
And the tumult and unquiet, 
And the yearning and the riot, 
And the piquancy its fleeting 
Transitory pleasure gives ! 

Dullard ! not to know my lover. 

Mine own noble Antony, 
Mine own soldier, mine own rover, 

Comes to-night to visit me ! 
Hasten, get my silver cincture, 
Give my lips a brighter tincture. 
Luscious lips, a lucent lincture 

For my lover's malady. 

Oh, the sport ! the playful racing 
Round the hall, each other chasing 
Where the vines are interlacing, 

Oh, the rapture so divine ! 
And the music and the ringing, 
And the singing and the swinging 
In the breeze so cool and bracing. 

And the citron and the wine ! 



THE LION 

Thou mighty brute, what majesty, 
What strength and power immense 

In thy terrific form we see, 
What bold magnificence ! 

Thy kingship o'er the forest vast 

On thy broad brow is read, 
And stamped upon the royal cast 

Of thy colossal head ! 

The fierceness of ten thousand years 

Of fury, fire, and fight, 
Red battle with thy would-be peers, 

Is gathered in thy might ! 

Thy limbs as strong as knotted oaks, 
Thy paws like bars of steel, 

Give blows as fierce as thunder-strokes 
To make a turret reel ! 
73 



THE LION 

The pestilence is in thy breath, 

And murder-dripping jaw ; 
Thy tracks lead downward unto death ; 

Hell's fire is in thy maw ! 

Thy voice is like the battle-shout 
When bannered armies meet 

And thousand lives are trampled out 
Beneath War's iron feet ! 

Thou movest on the mountain-side 

Like to a thunder-blast ; 
And o'er the forest far and wide 

The gloom of death is cast ! 

O Mighty One ! to me thou art 

A wild, tremendous force 
Like that which rends the oak apart 

When cyclones run their course ! 

A symbol of that Power Immense 

Which whirls the earth through space. 

And veils in clouds of thunder dense 
The glory of His Face ! 



THE TIGER 

I AM the king of the jungle blact, 

The king of the forest wide : 
All beasts will fly from my fearful track 

And deep in their caverns hide. 
My kingdom bold by my power I hold, 

By the weight of my cruel paws, 
By mine awful ire, and the fear I inspire. 

And the strength of mine iron jaws ! 

I stalk the buffalo through the grass, 

The ox with his anvil head ; 
And I fling my weight like a ton of brass 

On his neck, and I strike him dead. 
The elephant blows his trumpet loud, 

And rushes to strike me low ; 
But I shun the attack, and leap on his back. 

And bring him down with a blow. 

The fierce orang, by the devil cast 
In his own terrific form. 



THE TIGER 

Will fly from me as he will from the blast 

Or the terrible tropic storm. 
The python bold, that will crush in its fold 

The wild rhinoceros white, 
I charge and tear in the underwood there, 

While the boar looks on in fright. 

The beasts come down to the stream at dusk. 

The tapir, the deer, and boar, 
The mammoth huge with his dreadful tusk 

And his wild, unearthly roar ; 
And I lie in wait with my mottled mate. 

For the stag or the bison black. 
And then with a leap and an awful sweep 

Of my iron paw break his back. 

Oh, the tiger bold fills the heart with cold 

Of the leopard and mountain cat ; 
And his screaming fierce the breast will pierce 

Of the bear with his devil's brat. 
E'en the lion red, that fills with dread 

The forest throughout its length, 
Will shun a fight with me in the night. 

So well does he know my strength ! 

But when we engage with furious rage, 
Oh, then the volcano wakes ; 
76 



THE TIGER 

And the jungle howls with our hellish growls, 
And the wood and the mountain quakes ; 

And the thunder fills with terror the hills, 
And the ounce and the panther fleet, 

So fierce and strong is the battle long 
When the lion and the tiger meet ! 

With my brindled bride by my glossy side, 

I'm the king of the jungle black, 
On the neck of the wild-ox red we ride, 

And the burly buffalo's back : 
The pards that yell with mouth of hell. 

The leopard and wild-boar great, 
Will fly with fear when the scream they hear 

Of Tiger Tom and his mate. 



SAINT BERNARD TO THE 
BLESSED MARY 

Oh ! the pale silver light of a soft southern night 
Is less bright than the light of her presence ; 
And the lay of the lark, as he scatters the dark, 
Is less sweet than the laugh of her pleasance ; 
And her mien and the sheen 
Of her eyes show the queen. 
Though her garb is as rough as a peasant's. 

And the gold of her hair, and the gold of her fair 

And bewitchingly beautiful features. 

Make of Mary the light, make of Mary the bright. 

The most lissom and lovely of creatures ; 

And the rose of her mouth, 

Like the rose of the south. 

Makes her sweet lips the purest of preachers. 

Oh ! the forehead of pearl of this amber-haired girl. 
And her eyes full as blue as a beryl, 

78 



TO THE BLESSED MARY 

And their long silken fringe, and her cheeks' rosy 
tinge, 
And her figure as straight as a ferule, 
All have entered my heart 
And refined every part, 
And have made a life bloom that was sterile. 

A diamond of blue is less perfect or true, 

Is less pure than my star of the ocean ; 
And the smile is as bright as an alexandrite, 
Of the lady that owns my devotion. 
Oh, the beautiful doe 
Nor the cygnet can show 
So much grace as my Mary in motion. 

I can see the maid now, with her low, pensive 
brow. 
And her round, open throat, and the jasper 
Of rosy-red lips that are pressed to the tips 

Of the fingers of Him who would clasp her : 
The most beautiful Child, 
Little Jesus the Mild, 
Who is putting his arms up to grasp her. 

I can hear her low voice, and my pulses rejoice 
As they beat to the musical measure ; 
79 



TO THE BLESSED MARY 

I can see the swift blush, as the Child with a rush 
Flings His arms round His beautiful treasure ; 

As He laughs in His glee, 

While the Maiden Marie 
Sweetly smileth to see the Boy's pleasure. 



I can see the warm light of her eyes in the night, 

As she looks at me out of the glooming ; 
And her young piquant face, all illumined with 
grace, 
Sets the flowers of my heart all a-blooming ; 
And the scent of her hair, 
Floating out on the air. 
Is the violet's, the night-winds perfuming. 

And I press the pink tips of her fingers to lips 

That have learned to belaud her and love her ; 
And I thrill to the touch of her hand overmuch, 
With a joy born of Heaven above her ; 
While the Seraphim sing. 
Silver wing unto wing. 
And the Cherubim round her head hover. 

Oh ! what is the worth of the beauties of earth 
Compared unto that of my jewel ? 
80 



TO THE BLESSED MART 

Or what is the grace of a beautiful face 
If the heart be corrupted and cruel ? 
I cry " fie ! " on the light 
Of an eye like the night, 
When the life is a dark one and dual. 



Give, give me the maid of the amber-bright braid, 

Sweet Mary, the virginal mother : 

My dove and my love, pure as Heaven above, 

In the eyes of our Saviour and Brother. 

Oh ! the Maiden Marie 

Is the true-love of me, 

And I want not the love of another. 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF SAN- 
TIAGO 

Out from the strait they steamed 
On a Sunday morning bright, — 

Four battle-ships with the iron lips 
Of their guns unmuzzled for fight 
And the steel plates flashing in the light : 
Strait out to sea they steamed, 
And their pennons behind them streamed. 

As they roared and blored like a fearful blast, 

And kicked up the sea into mountains fast, 
While the balls all around them screamed. 

Out of the bay they rushed, 
A grand and imposing sight. 

Their steam full on, and their flags all flushed. 
And the gunners stripped for fight, 
Their eyes all bright with the thunder-light. 
Out swept the Infanta first. 
And a shell from her turret burst, 

And rose in the air with a roar and blare 

82 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFE SANTIAGO 

And passed on the blast with a flare and glare 
Toward the Brooklyn there, for fight athirst. 

But the shell, with a yell like hell. 

Of the Yankee ship flew wide, 
And a shot from the Brooklyn's gunner fell 

On the Spaniard's starboard side, 

And crashed right on with a grind and gride. 

Then another followed fast 

On the battle's fearful blast. 
And the sea-quake woke, 'mid flame and smoke, 
And the fire like a shower of meteors broke 

On the hulk in the whirlpool cast. 

Now the Yankee ships of the line, 

With a leap and a frightful yell, 
Like a storm swept over the brine. 

While a tempest of shot and shell 

And of thunder-stones all around them fell. 

Then the swift Yizcaya came 

Through the surging sea of flame, 
And her guns all spoke, and her fire-bolts broke 
Round the Yankee cruisers wrapped in smoke — 

But her fire went wide of her aim. 

Up rushed the Iowa then, 
And the terrible Oregon, 

83 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF SANTIAGO 

And you'd think the fire from the devil's den 

In the boiling sea-trough shone, 

Such a tempest broke on the Don. 

Then the blazing lightnings flew 

And the whirlwind louder blew, 
And the cannon crashed, and the rifles flashed. 
And the rapid-guns and the howits smashed 

The Spaniard's ship, and his frantic crew. 

While the great Vizcaya fought 
With the twain her fearful fight, 

The Colon swept through the gulf and sought 
Through the battle-blaze and the tempest-light 
To force her way, and escape by flight. 
Then the guns of the Texas roared, 
And the tubes of the Brooklyn poured 

Such a storm of death and fire and steel 

On the battle-ship as made her reel 
And well-nigh sink with all on board. 

On the heels of the Colon came. 

With a rush, and plunge, and sweep. 

The Oquendo breathing fire and flame, 
As she went through the roaring deep, 
Through the foaming sea with a leap : 
Then a shell and a ton of steel 
She flung with a thunder-peal, 
84 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF SANTIAGO 

And her engines screamed and her fire-bolts 

streamed 
O'er the seething sea, till afire it seemed, 
As she flew, and showed them her heel. 



But a shower of shell and shot, 

From the terrible Oregon, 
Struck the laboring ship in a vital spot 

And blew up the treacherous Don 

'Mid a blaze that far o'er the ocean shone. 

O God ! what a hell-fire broke, 

What a fierce volcano woke, 
When the roaring flames with their fangs accurst 
From the stoke-hole black and the port-holes burst, 

And wrapped her with thunder-smoke. 

Then the guns of the Texas turned 

On the Colon bounding along — 
And they pounded her till her hatches burned ; 

And the Dons, urged on by whip and thong, 

Returned our fire with a fire as strong. 

Away, away o'er the main, 

Ran the war-ship swift of Spain : 
Like a furious blast the Iowa she passed, 
With the Texas swift and the Brooklyn fast. 

And the Oregon in her foaming train. 
85 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF SANTIAGO 

Then up to the battle came 

The Indiana black, 
With her fierce hontorias all aflame, 

And her every Jack, all bare of back. 

Yelling like men on the burning rack. 

Like a sea-lion snorting fire, 

Her engines throbbing with ire, 
She took her place in the furious race 
And gave the Colon a fearful chase. 

All intent on vengeance dire. 

In the midst of the tempest loud. 

The Theresa, racked and rent, 
Her burning hull enwrapped in a cloud 

And her gunners all forespent, 

Put her helm to port and landward went. 

O God ! what a cry of pain 

Arose from the men of Spain, 
When the fire from the hold wrapt the sailors bold. 
And they suffered agonies all untold. 

As they died in the hurricane ! 

The noble Vizcaya, too, 
On fire abaft and before, 

Though her guns were served by her gallant crew, 
Had to turn her head for the shore. 
Where her decks blew up with an awful roar. 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF SANTIAGO 

Then tlie two torpedoes dread 
From the fire of the Gloucester fled, 
While a screeching shell with the panther's yell 
From the frowning towers of the Texas fell 
On the fury, and struck him dead. 

Meantime through a shower of shot 
Like a comet the Colon rushed : 

The Oregon and the Brooklyn hot 

In pursuit, with their guns that crushed 
The Spaniard's turrets with blood all flushed. 
Then the sea like a geyser boiled 
While the men at the cannon moiled, 

And the big guns yelled, as the Dons they shelled, 

And the fight in their iron hands they held. 
While the ships through the tempest toiled. 

Away on the greatest race 

That e'er took place on the sea. 
The Colon sped with our ships in chase ; 

All their engines panting fearfully, 

And their fire as fierce as lightnings be. 

For sixty miles or more 

'Mid the deep incessant roar 
Of a burning mount, a volcano red. 
The battle-ship on the hot race sped, 

Till the Spaniard put for the shore. 

87 



THE SEA-FIGHT OFF SANTIAGO 

Thus the fight was fought that day 

In the Santiago sea, 
A fight that will live in fame alway 

And by ages yet to be 

Will be read triumphantly. 

All praise to the Powers that reign, 

To the God of the land and main. 
Unto Sampson, too, and Schley with his crew. 
Who right in the thick of the battle flew. 

And swept the sea of the ships of Spain. 



HILDEBRAND 

[To "W. S. Wbnkbbbekg] 

The man I sing whose rugged silhouette, 

Whose strong incisive profile cut in jet, 

Stamps him the greatest hero of his age, 

Its grandest sovereign, and its foremost sage : 

The man of steel, who clipped the brazen wings 

Of robber-barons and of ruffian kings : 

The hero bold, who, owing nought to birth, 

Rose by his genius o'er the lords of earth ; 

Whose awful thunders shook the proudest state 

And terrified the armies of the great : 

The firebrand of the age, the priest whose name 

Made monarchs tremble, and made despots tame 

A diplomat whose policy profound 

The craft of keenest statesmen could confound ; 

Whose forceful character, severely great, 

Made him the great dynamic of the state ; 

Whose wondrous faculty for government. 



HILDEBRAND 

Had he but sought his own aggrandizement, 
A second Caesar or an Otho grand 
Might make of bold, unbending Hildebrand. 
An iron age demands an iron lord 
To rule the lawless people with the sword ; 
And ne'er were times so full of anarchy 
As those dark days that fashioned Gregory ; 
And never architect a dome so vast 
Built from the debris round about him cast. 
He found the world degraded by its lust, 
Vice on the throne, and virtue in the dust ; 
A pauper people trampled on the ground, 
By iron laws and social pressures bound ; 
A stiff nobility, whose only God 
Was that all-potent one, the cruel rod ; 
A legislature that made laws of silk 
For dukes and counts, and varlets of that ilk, 
And othersome of iron and of brass 
For tenants, bondmen, and the peasant class ; 
The church, invaded by the vavasors 
Of haughty kings, who sought to give her laws : 
Tyrants, who placed upon the abbot's throne 
Obsequious slaves and creatures of their own. 
Installed their sons in benefices rich 
And cast the slain incumbents in the ditch. 
The clergy, thus composed of worldly men, 
Fitter to wield the sword than use the pen, 

90 



HILDEBRAND 

Turned from the study of supernal things 
To that of losels and of roistering kings ; 
From priestly cares and pastoral duties fled, 
And offered stones to those who cried for bread. 
And when the church, too feeble to resist, 
Held up to Heaven her enshackled wrist, 
The runagates unclasped the murderous knife. 
And threatened loud to take their mother's life. 
Such were the times when Gregory was called 
To free a people servilely enthralled, 
Before proud kings, despotic as the Khan, 
T' assert the worth and dignity of man, 
To drive the lion from the wattled pen. 
And give the church her liberty again ; 
Chase from the temple with his whip of cords 
The mitred satellites of earls and lords, 
Degrade the vile, the proud to castigate. 
And force each monk to be a celibate ; 
With iron heel to stamp out simony, 
And give its death to ancient witchery. 
A task Herculean, the world agrees ; 
But in the priest was found the Hercules. 
He felt himself the chosen of the Lord 
To free his kingdom from the tyrant's sword, 
And through the church to give its liberty 
To a despised and trodden peasantry. 
This having done, it was the giant's aim 

91 



HILDEBRAND 

A Holy League of emperies to frame, 

One grand and beautiful theocracy, 

Deriving life from Christianity. 

This was the plan that Hildebrand designed, 

The great majestic thought that filled his mind ; 

But satisfied that priests cannot be pure, 

Where kings retain the right of 'vestiture. 

The peasant-prince by one tremendous blow 

The feudal system sought to overthrow. 

And, waging ceaseless war with simony. 

Shake the whole edifice of tyranny. 

But he who would an evil age reform, 

Draws on himself the lightnings of the storm, 

Broadcast the dragon-teeth of hatred throws, 

That spring up from the ground, ten thousand 

foes. 
Thus Hildebrand — when with their iron clang 
His f ulminations through the kingdoms rang — 
A furious tempest brought about his ears. 
Broken and stricken as he was in years. 
But he who might have hurled the bolt of war. 
Whom Nature stamped an iron warrior. 
Impassive stood, until the mirk and mist 
Dissolved, and showed the skies of amethyst ; 
Unmoved, pursued his labor of reform. 
Despite the rumbling thunders of a storm 
That soon on his devoted head would break, 

92 



HILDEBRAND 

And his vast power to its foundation shake. 
The German Henry, who oppressed the poor 
To 'dizen and bedeck his paramour, 
Who robbed the altars of their precious stones 
That they might sparkle on the silver zones 
Of his dark dancing girls, the priest opposed, 
And all the churches in his kingdom closed. 
The darkness of despair hung o'er the land, 
And men in whispers said that Heaven's hand 
"Was raised against them. Henry with the stain 
Of murder on his brow, another Cain, 
Wandered o'er Germany ; but no man crossed 
His hand with his whom all considered lost. 
Then bloodshed followed, internecine war ; 
And Rudolph, bold and brave a warrior 
As e'er drew battle-blade, to Henry's throne 
Through slaughter climbed, and made the crown 

his own. 
The bold usurper Gregory denounced. 
But for the public weal at length pronounced 
The prince the lawful lord of Germany. 
Another fight was fought ; but victory 
This time on Henry smiled, and full of ire, 
Breathing resentment and destruction dire 
Toward Hildebrand, he climbed the mountain- 
chain. 
And led his legions into Lombard's plain, 

93 



HILDEBRAND 

Turned to a waste the gardens of the Po, 

And shut up Gregory in Angelo. 

E'en then one word from that sublime old man, 

And Henry would have sheathed the ataghan. 

One word, — but he who so loved liberty. 

And hated vice and all iniquity, 

Preferred a prison and an exile's end 

To peace and freedom as a tyrant's friend ; 

And so the grim old Lion of the Lord — 

Hunted through Italy with fire and sword — 

Still true to principles severe and high. 

Lay down his iron sides alone to die. 

And thus a ruin, but a ruin grand 

Went down amid the lightnings, Hildebrand, 

He failed — but no, he thought he failed, for see 

The fair results of his far policy. 

A church that kings had trampled on the ground, 

Her brow with Freedom's starry circle crowned, 

A governmental system overthrown, 

'Neath which the multitude was wont to groan. 

Serfdom abolished, tyranny pulled down. 

And personal equality in count and clown 

Taught to the mass, — the greatest gift, I wis. 

By that Titanic age bequeathed to this, — 

The mass that saw in stalwart Gregory 

The strongest safeguard of their liberty. 

Living, he taught that character, not birth, 

94 



HILDEBRAND 

Alone can constitute exalted wortli, 
And, dying, left unto remotest time 
The grand example of his life sublime : 
A wonderfully bold and great career 
For sages to admire and kings to fear. 



NAPOLEON 

[Supposed to be written ere his removal from St. Helena.] 

There lies lie cold and lifeless now, 
No royal circle round his brow, 

No battle-flag before him : 
No wife beside his form to weep, 
No children to his side to creep. 
No loving hand his grave to keep, 

Nor canopy hung o'er him : 
Nay, friendless as a nameless slave, 
He slumbers in his lonely grave ! 

There lies he low, the king of kings. 
Who made of thrones his playing-things. 

And like a Man-God bore him : 
There lies he now less than the bird 
That in the scraggy hedge is heard. 
Yea, less than yon blind bat that whirred. 

And flew this minute o'er him : 
The hands that smote the Cgesar's crest 
Now folded, childlike, on his breast ! 



NAPOLEON 

Where are his myriad men of war, 
Where are the legions wont to draw 

The battle-blade before him ? 
Where are the grisly grenadiers 
Who hailed him with their iron tears, 
And, rushing on with thunder-cheers, 

Beat Charles, and trampled o'er him ? 
Was there not one to follow him. 
And close his eyes when they grew dim ? 

Where are the guns of Lodi red, 
Of Wagram, covered with the dead, 

Where he so proudly bore him ? 
Marengo's cannon, where are they, 
The howitzers of Arcolay, 
Of murderous Jena's dreadful day. 

Where glory's sun burst o'er him ? 
Is there not one to thunder o'er 
His corse on Helen's rocky shore ? 

When first the conquering king I saw. 
He hurled the blazing bolt of war, 

His proud flag flying o'er him ; 
And bombs were bursting in the air. 
And in the cannon's smoke and glare 
A million men were battling there, 

Upon the plain before him ; 
97 



NAPOLEON 

And when his battle-flags were furled, 
He stood, the master of the world. 

When last I saw that conquering king. 
He was a most abandoned thing, 

His army flying before him : 
His cannon spiked or overthrown. 
His carriages to pieces blown, 
His guard cut down, like barley mown, 

His horsemen riding o'er them ; 
And he, a wretch whom no one knew. 
Fled from the field of Waterloo. 

Poor fallen king ! Poor tool of Fate, 
By some misnomer called The Great, 

Sleep on in marble slumber : 
Thou hast fulfilled thy destiny. 
A human vulture, God sent thee 
The world's great scavenger to be. 

To cleanse it of its scumber ; 
And having done thy work, O Pride, 
He flung thee, like a stick, aside ! 



DEBORAH SAMPSON 

[A Massacliusetts woman who fought in the Revolution. ] 

Only a woman as fair as the fairest, 

Only a girl with a timid blue eye ; 
But the heart in her breast was bold as the best, 
And her spirit was brave as the bravest and rarest 

Of all who went forth for their country to die ! 

When the guns their songs of liberty thundered, 

And Liberty's flag all its folds unfurled, 
And in field and in fen our raw minute-men 
Fought Freedom's battle, and all Europe wondered, 
For the fame of the fight filled all the world, 

^ This high-souled woman left lover and mother, 
f And, donning the buff of the rebel bold, 

f She shouldered her gun and she marched in the 
sun. 
And she marched in the rain by the side of her 
brother, 
And hurried away where the battle-smoke rolled. 



DEBORAH SAMPSON 

Away she went to the front of the battle, 

Where the storm-cloud burst and the lightning 
flashed ; 
And on through the gale of a terrible hail, 
'Mid the gloom, and the boom, and the roar and 
the rattle. 
In the far fore-front of the fray she dashed. 

When Washington crossed the Delaware River, 

And his freezing soldiers died at his side. 
Then her fortitude shone ; for she struggled on. 
And battled with never a shiver nor quiver, 
Though weak men fainted and strong men cried. 

At Valley Forge, where the troops left behind them 
Their terrible foot-prints of bloody red, 

And they marched through the sleet with their 
bleeding feet, 

And blizzards so fierce as almost to blind them. 
This heroine tramped by their side and bled. 

Only a woman, but never Crusader, 

Never was warrior braver than she. 
Who shouldered her gun in the rain and the sun. 
And went out to meet the insulting invader, 

And beat him, and drove him back into the sea ! 



LILAC TIME 

Winds of Heaven blowing, flowers of Heaven 
growing, 
Daffodils and jonquils glowing in the sun, 
Squirrels in the hedges, serpents in the sedges. 
Laughing waters flashing and splashing in the 
run. 

Apple-blossoms glowing, — one would think 'twas 
snowing. 
For the trees are mantled in a robe of white, — 
And the meadows golden with the kingcup olden 
Fill the heart with joyance, buoyance and 
delight. 

Merry spinks above me, bobolinks that love me. 
Pipe and sing and whistle gaily all the day ; 

And the golden robin, in the grasses bobbing. 
Fills the waving woods with music of the May. 
101 



LILAC TIME 

Oh, the song of blackmacks, and the smell of lilacs, 
And the sassafrases sweet as rosemary, 

And the blossoms-cherry make the country merry. 
Make the land awake to love and melody ! 

Oh, it's Heaven living when the buds are giving. 
Giving all their musk and magic to the breeze ; 

When the birds are trilling, all the forest filling 
With their song all day long of the sunset-seas ! 

And I thank Thee, Jesus, for these scented breezes, 
Thank Thee, oh, so kindly, for so sweet a day ; 

For the waters flowing, and the blossoms blowing. 
And the wondrous magic of the mystic May. 



HERMES TRISMEGISTUS 

His life was one of meditation deep, 

Profoundest thought upon the Primal Force, 
The Master-Worker, the Eternal Source 

Of all the cosmic energies that keep 

The systems in the orbs through which they 
sweep, 
The planets in their ordinated course : 
That Power whose stern decretals doth di- 
vorce 

The vale of vice from virtue's sunlit steep. 

In brooding silence like a god he sate. 
Eternal wisdom sitting on his brow, 

His visage furrowed with the lines of fate, 
A stone enigma, questioning the How, 

The Why and Wherefore of the things that be, 

And find their centre in the Deity. 

Composed in intramental calm he sate. 

Nor let the great perfervid world disturb 
His placid soul, which nothing could perturb. 

So high it stood, so strong, and so sedate. 

103 



HERMES TRISMEGISTUS 

Within himself he shrank to meditate 

On transient man, the brother of the herb, 
And on man's passions, which to check and 
curb 

Is his prime Duty, foreordained of Fate. 

The mind of Plato and the soul of Paul 

He had, this wondrous wizard of the Nile ; 

A heart to know and love the Lord of all, 
A spirit that no soilure could defile : 

A Christian heart within a Pagan breast. 

Two-thirds an angel, and a clod the rest. 

A seer more sage than thoughtful Socrates, 

While others floundered on an unknown sea 
Of doubt, despair, and dark uncertainty. 

He nobly dared explore the mysteries 

Of life and light, the twin eternities ; 
Taught God, existent in a Trinity, 
Declared the spirit's immortality, 

And gleaned the lore of latest centuries. 

Whence did he gather it, inquires the mind ? 

Learning so recondite, so varied, too : 
Whence did he gather in an age so blind 

Such wisdom as Egyptian Hermes knew ? 
Was it derived of self, — or was his lore 
Revealed of Heaven, as in the days of yore ? 



SIGHING FOR SUMMER 

Oh for the rhythm, the rhyme and the chime 
Of the bells in Fairyland ringing ; 

Of the song at prime, in the fragrant thyme, 
Of the blackbird merrily singing ! 

And oh for the rose in the green perclose, 
The pippin, the peach, and the cherry ; 

For the peppermint where the sunbeams glint, 
And the rippling rivulets merry ! 

For the silvern gleam in the beautiful stream 
Of the trout and the grayling glancing ; 

Or the bream that glitters like gold in the beam 
Of the sun on the waters dancing ! 

For the woods of dusk, and the winds of musk 
With a hint of the citron in them ; 

The thrush in the grass, and the sassafras, 
And lilies with lassies to win them ! 
106 



SIGHING FOR SUMMER 

Oh for a sight of the red-bird bright, 
And the cardinal's warm vermilion ; 

For the golden flight, in the flashing light, 
Of the finch to his green pavilion ! 

For the whippoorwill on the twilight hill 
Where the sumac sprays are plumy, 

And the tender song when the shadows are long 
Of the girls in the garden bloomy ! 

A sigh for the sky of sweet July 

And the summer's glamour and glimmer, 

Of the lazy seas and lavender leas 

And the summer-time's shine and shimmer ! 



THE ORIOLE 

A FLASH of light and a whir of wings, 
A gleam of gold and a blush of red : 

And adown the gloom like a star it sped ; 

Adown the green and the trees atween, 
Like a feathery fire it swiftly fled, 

With an ebon back, and a golden throat, 

And a palpitant, pulsatile, passionate note, 

That out on the air like a bubble doth float 

Or a golden girl in a golden boat. 

A gorgeous creature, a globe of fire, 

A thing all splendor and love and light ; 
A robin begot in the rainbow bright 
Or the western skies when the sunset dyes 
The wings of the birds that pass in flight 
Through the ruby gates, and the portals wide, 
Till tipped with vermilion, and dipped in a tide 
Of purple and gold, they glimmer and glide 
Through the sky, as bright as a bloomy bride. 
107 



THE ORIOLE 

An orange-musk in the twinkling dusk ; 

A topaz throbbing with golden fire ; 
Sweet music shaken from Heaven's lyre, 
And turned in the night to crimson bright, 

And gold like the yellow light of a pyre, — 
A glimmering, shimmering, beautiful thing. 
With a voice like a pearl in a simmering spring, 
A diamond flitting on glittering wing, 
That ever of Heaven doth heavenly sing. 



THE WILD HORSES OF THE 
PAMPAS 

Out on the prairies there rolling away, 
Rolling in billows like waves on the bay, 
Browsing and nibbling the delicate green 
Of the pampas, a troop of wild horses are seen. 
Beautiful fellows as wild as can be. 
Wild as the surf and the surge of the sea, 
With rivery manes, and eyes shot with fire. 
And limbs whose tendons and cords are of wire. 
A stallion their leader, a powerful black. 
Battle scars thick on his flanks and his back. 
His neck a massive one, glossy and proud, 
His eye like lightning licking the cloud. 
In sooth, they make a magnificent sight, 
That herd of horses, fourscore of them quite. 
Horses that never knew bridle nor rein. 
That ne'er felt the lash nor the rowel's pain. 
Ramping and romping at will on the plain. 

109 



WILD HORSES OF THE PAMPAS 

But hark ! the thunder of hundreds of hoofs 
Like a storm beating hard on a village's roofs 
Is heard in the west, and a roar like the sea 
When the tempest lashes it furiously. 
Then pricking their ears, with a look of surprise 
And of anger perchance in their great rolling eyes, 
They snuff at the winds that come over the plain, 
Their muscles all bunching and tense every vein. 
Then they snort with alarm, while the lightning of 

fight 
Flashes out of their eyes that are all blazing bright. 
Then wheeling as if by a bugle's command, 
Each steed in a trice takes his place in the band, 
The strong ones before and the weaker behind, 
While the strangers rush o'er the plain like the wind. 
Over the pampas they gallop and dash 
As if every courser was urged with the lash, — 
A hundred swift horses all rushing along 
With the rumble and blore of buffaloes strong. 
But, lo ! on a sudden the dark fljdng mass 
Bring up at a halt in the deep waving grass, 
And, lifting their long slender necks high in air. 
With a look of surprise at the other ones stare. 
Then they snort defiance, and, prancing around. 
Soon form into ranks on the broad battle-ground. 
Like a cyclone that tears o'er the prairie they dash. 
Rush over the plain with a clatter and crash, — 

110 



WILD HORSES OF THE PAMPAS 

The two rival armies, the stallions in front, 
Ever eager to bear battle's terrible brunt. 
Faster and faster and harder they go. 
Like tigers or lions leaping after the foe. 
Their eyes all as red as the red thunder-light, 
And their galloping hoofs all too eager to smite. 
Like thunder-clouds big with the tempest they 

meet, 
And battle with tushes and furious feet, 
Half of them thrown by the shock to the plain, 
Some of them never to rise thence again. 
O Heaven, what a sight ! What a tempest of blows ! 
What a thunder-gust rages around the fierce foes ! 
What shrieking and screaming like demons in pain 
As the horses battle with might and with main, 
And the terrible hoofs beat out many a brain ! 
They kick and they bite ; they roll and they rear, 
They rush and they plunge, and scream in their 

fear ; 
The blood flowing freely from many a flank. 
And turning to crimson the grasses and brank. 
Never wolves on the shore of the frozen seas 
Were so fierce, so cruel, so savage as these ; 
Never the panther nor jaguar waged 
A bloodier battle, nor angrier raged, 
Than those furious steeds, as they bite and smite, 
And tear up the plain in their terrible fight. 

Ill 



WILD HORSES OF THE PAMPAS 

But see ! now the leaders, two thunderbolts, meet 
And battle and batter with teeth and with feet, 
Wheel and career round each other and pound. 
And pummel and strike till they fall to the ground. 
But, ah ! they are up again, screaming with rage. 
And again with a rush and a crash they engage, 
Snorting and shrieking with passion and pain 
And striking and beating with might and with 

main : 
Till one of them falls on the ripple-grass dead. 
The black having shattered and crushed in his 

head. 
Then, stricken with panic, the strange horses flee 
With the speed of the wind o'er the green, grassy 

sea; 
The maimed left behind to the rage of their foes. 
Who batter their skulls with their terrible blows ; 
Then sink on the pampas, all reeking and wet 
With blood and with foam, with froth and with 

sweat, 
Panting and blowing and gasping for breath, 
The living ones close by their comrades in death. 
Such are the battles are fought when they meet, 
The steeds of the pampas, so fiery and fleet ; 
Steeds that are shod with the lightning and strong 
As the thunder that rumbles and rattles along. 



THE FLOATING GARDENS OF 
MEXICO 

The Chalco Lake, oh, the Chalco Lake 

With its murmurous waves of melted pearls, 

And its lilies of living gold that make 
A screen for the black-eyed water-girls. 

Oh, the Chalco Lake with its fringe of palms. 

Its gentle zephyrs and golden calms, 

Its cinnamon breath and Gilead-balms, 

And its skies as blue as blue can be, 

Oh, the Chalco Lake is the place for me ! 

Oh, the Chalco Lake with its floating isles, — 

Shall I e'er forget that day of days. 
When over the wave where sunlight smiles. 

The year around through a golden haze, 
We came at last to the isles that float 
And glide and glance like a dancing boat, 
To the music soft of the cushat's note : 
We came to the new Hesperides, 
With their banks of bloom and acacia-trees ! 

113 



FLOATING GARDENS OF MEXICO 

The floating gardens of Mexico, 

With their scarlet beds of callirhoe, 
The rose-trees scenting the winds that blow, 

The asphodel and eurydice ; 
And the humming-birds with their purple wings, 
The doves with their iridescent rings, 
And the gorgeous prince of all gorgeous things, 
The bright flamingo in scarlet dressed, 
Like sunset clouds in the crimson west ! 

And the senoritas in white simars, 

Among the trees in the purple dusk, 
Singing to sound of their sweet guitars, 
Songs that fill all the air with musk ; 
And glow-worms gleaming like drops of glass, 
And fire-flies flashing on trees and grass. 
With eyes of gold and with backs of brass. 
An Eden make of those isles of flowers, 
Those smiling islands of birds and bowers. 

Oh, what were life in those flowery isles. 

With those I love in the rosy east ! 
A golden dream, with their songs and smiles, 

A dance by day and by night a feast. 
And lying there amid roses red, 
With blue beneath and the blue o'erhead, 
To the bustling world and its sorrows dead, 

114 



FLOATING GARDENS OF MEXICO 

'Tis little we'd reck of its care and crime, 
And little we'd mind the flight of time ! 

Oh, floating, floating ever along, 

Ever along on the inland sea, 
In music and mirth, and light and song, 

And romances out of Araby. 
Why care should we for the world without. 
With its noise and strife and battle-shout. 
Its dance and revel, and mask and rout ? — 
In sweet oblivion of all beside, 
We'd drift along on the summer tide. 

An artist striving for golden fame, 

A soldier battling to win a crown, 
In those sweet islands with flowers aflame 

Might laugh at the tinselled toy, renown. 
For who that ever beheld those isles 
Floating over the water for miles 
Would care for Fortune's favors or smiles ; 
Oh, who that has got the pearl in his hand 
Would look for the pearl that's lost in the sand ? 

O floating gardens of Mexico, 

I would that I were among you now. 

To lay my head where your violets blow. 
And feel your redolent winds on my brow, 

115 



FLOATING GARDENS OF MEXICO 

I would I were where the gold-thread grows, 
Where the wave with its murmurous music flows, 
And each hour is a flower, a fragrant rose, 
That falling away from the life-tree lies 
Like light on the grass, and in perfume dies ! 



A SONG OF THE SEA 

Oh, sing a song to me of the foaming, fuming sea 
The rumble and the tumble as it thunders on 
the shore, 
The passionate unrest of its mighty heaving 
breast. 
The battle and the brattle, the bluster and the 
blore ! 

And the long and mighty sweep of the billows 
on the deep, 
The boom and gloom, and frothy spume that 
flies before the blast, 
The lions of the sea, that, roaring fearfully, 

Mistake the rocks for feeding flocks, and leap 
on them at last. 

Oh, sing to stir the blood of the mighty moving 
flood, 
The rushing of the waters, the turbulence and 
fume ; 

117 



A SONG OF THE SEA 

The vast tremendous power, the rolling clouds 
that lower, 
The wild torrential tumult, the tempest and, 
the gloom. 

For the dark and stormy sea has a nameless 
charm for me, 
There's music in its motion, there is magic in its 
roar. 
There's beauty in its gloom and grandeur in its 
boom, 
And majesty and terror in its blore upon the 
shore ! 

And I could stand all day, and watch the flying 
spray. 
And mark the mighty march of mountain 
waves along 
Of billows battle-black, bearing thunder on their 
back. 
All charging like a thousand horse in line of 
battle strong. 



THE VIRGIN MOTHER 

O Beauty, Beauty, God's immortal daughter. 

The fairest efflorescence of His love : 
Thy smile is like the light of laughing water ; 

Thy shade, the glory of the stars above. 

Thou art the magic one, the golden dove, 
That, moving on wide wings of lambent light, 

Fillest with ravishment the cosmic grove. 
And with thy splendor and effulgence bright 
Enrapturest the heart, concentred into sight ! 

Thou art the world's sultana, and its wonder. 
The queenly conqueror of conquering kings : 

Strong in thy loveliness as tropic thunder 

When on the storm the living lightning springs. 
And all the world with its wild laughter rings. 

Thou art the rising sun, and men adore thee. 
And on thy shrine heap up all precious things : 

Thou art the world's desire : men bow before thee, 

While Heaven itself in rapture bends Him o'er 
thee ! 

119 



THE VIRGIN MOTHER 

In many forms — for thou art pluri-present — 
Thou charmest men, — in foam-bell and in flower, 

In star and moon, in cresset, and in crescent, 
In versi-colored warblers of the bower, 
And in the glitterant gems of summer's shower 

But never yet, O Loveliness transcendent, 
A fairer form with favors thou didst dower 

Than Hers, whose star fore'er in the ascendent 

Shines o'er the troubled sea, our beacon-light tran- 
splendent. 

O Mary Maiden, all that's soft and tender 

Of love and light, and gentleness and grace, 
And all that's loveliest of gloom and splendor, 

Meets in the magic music of thy face ; 

Beams in thine eye, wherein the soul may trace 
That purity, which as the priceless gem 

Of Christian woman holds the proudest place ; 
Gleams on thy brow, and with a diadem 
Crowns thee, O Royal Rose, of David's royal stem 

Purer than crystal in its native mountains, 
Than coral-combs beneath the placid sea, 

Pure as the diamond-dew of flashing fountains, 
Or sunlight on the lily of the lea, 
Or pearl-pink clouds that sail the heavens free, 

120 



THE VIRGIN MOTHER 

Thou shinest forth, the diamond without flaw, 

The star with naught to dim its brilliancy, 
O brightest beauty that the skies e'er saw 
Since they began their march in God's eternal law 



O Woman, made of music and of musk, 

And all sweet things, that sweeter seem in thee, 

O Lady of the diamond eyes of dusk. 
And look of love, and queenly dignity. 
Attempered by thy maiden modesty, 

Thou comest smiling from the Orient, 
Breathing of balsam out of Araby, 

Thou comest up, like some bright angel sent. 

To give to human deeds a loftier intent ! 



O golden Rose, O sunny light of May, 

No words though words were made of amethyst, 
And pearls and opals where the colors play. 

And chrysolite as ruby red as cist. 

No words though they had golden tongues, I 
wist. 
And though they spoke in music murmuring. 

Can shadow forth the loveliness unkissed 
Of thy fair face, the spirit mirroring 
Of spirits loveliest save His, our Lord and King ! 

121 



THE VIRGIN MOTHER 

House of gold in which the Christ-child dwelt, 
How beautiful a temple thou must be ! 

How pure those virgin lips the Christ-child felt, 
When he upturned His angel face to thee, 
And laughed and prattled in thine arms with 

glee ! 
O Virgin Beautiful, how pure thine eyes. 
Bright with the chrysoberyl's brilliancy, 

That dared to look into the blue purprise 

Of His whose purity was purer than the skies ! 

O Mary, garden gay of red-lipped roses, 
O Vale, with bird-voice music most divine, 

O Paradise where every joy reposes 
On flowery banks as red as almandine. 
Fair fount of diamonds in whose waters shine 

The sparkling summer light of golden grace, 
O Tree of cinnamon, whose perfume fine 

With redolence fills God's own dwelling-place, 

Thy breath of balsam breathe upon my burning 
face ! 

Thy loveliness like golden music thrills me. 
Like light illumines me, and glorifies : 

Thy beauty with the wine of rapture fills me, 
Enchanting me while yet it purifies. 
And lifts my spirit to the over-skies. 

122 



THE VIRGIN MOTHER 

Oh, deep within my heart of hearts, I feel 

The splendor of thy wonderful dark eyes, 
Before whose light the fainting senses reel, 
And o'er the trembling soul ecstatic visions steal. 



O Morning Star, O Tower of Ivory, 

O Jewel flashing with the brilliant light, 

The splendor of thine angel chastity. 

Turn thou the glory of thy beauty bright. 
The dazzling radiance of thy brow bedight 

With gold and hyacinth and diamond. 
Upon me, Lady of the lilies white ; 

Touch thou my heart with thine angelic wand. 

And living streams will gush, O Mother fair and 
fond! 



Give me to be thy docile child, Marie, 

Give me to love thee with the love of truth : 

Give me to know thy crystal purity, 

O Queen of Beauty, brilliant with the blooth 
And dazzling splendor of eternal youth ! 

Speak to my heart in accents sweet and low : 
Oh, whisper kindly words of golden sooth, 

Speak as thou spakest in the long ago. 

To Jesus, Mother mine, O Maiden pure as snow ! 

123 



THE VIRGIN MOTHER 

Fill thou my heart with mystic music, Mother, 
Music that takes its silver touch from thee : 

Fill me with tenderness for Christ our brother, 
For Christ thy Son, mirificent Marie, 
O Light of stars along the flashing sea. 

For thou canst give to those that love, adore thee 
And keep their spirits pure and white of blee. 

Thy children sweet who kneel them down before 
thee, 

Joy like to theirs on high who hover round and 
o'er thee. 

Give me to drink at the pellucid fountain 
The golden waters of immortal youth : 

Give me to climb the rugged iron mountain 
Where stands the Temple of Eternal Truth, 
Of Right, triumphant in her might and blooth. 

For thou art Wisdom, crowned and constellated 
And clothed with power strong as death in sooth ; 

And thou canst give to souls illuminated 

Love far beyond the stent of mind to matter mated. 

And now, in lieu of fresh and full-blown roses 
And garlands sweet as heavenly lavender, 

In lieu of silver song with silver closes. 

Song full of incense and the breath of myrrh. 
And all those charms that make the pulses stir, 

124 



THE VIRGIN MOTHER 

Accept these humble strains, O Lady sweet ; 

And if they be not smooth as minever, 
But crude, inconsonant, and incomplete. 
Accept them for the heart, I lay me at thy feet ! 



THE DEEP GREEN WOODS 

Aet may boast her pictures, boast her pearly 
palace, 
Boast her marble statues perfect in each part. 
Boast her sculptured bronzes and her jewelled 
chalice ; 
But, if I have Nature, care I not for Art. 

Oh, I sick and weary of divine ApoUos, 

Cupids cut in marver, Junos wrought in brass ; 

And I'd rather list to the twitter of the swallows, 
Watch the bobolincolns hopping in the grass. 

Oh, the fragrant woodland ! Oh, the sombre forest ! 

How I love to wander and ponder in its ways ! 
How I love to listen to the cuckoo chorist, 

Singing in the poplars songs of other days ! 

Oh, the balmy breezes, breathing musk of Heaven, 
And the blush of blossoms blooming by the 
way; 

126 



THE DEEP GREEN WOODS 

And the golden robins darting round like levin, 
How they fill my heart with the music of the 

May ! 

TeU me not of Florence with its marble treasures, 
Tell me not of Rome with its vast cathedral 
piles. 

Tell me not of Paris with its wealth of pleasures, 
Rather give me May-time in these forest aisles. 

With no eye to watch me but the One above me, 
With no one beside me but His presence there, 

With no one but God and the wild-wood birds to 
love me. 
Here in this old forest I could dwell fore'er. 

Here amid the grasses, in the woodland passes, 
I could lay me down and dream my life away ; 

Listening to the rhyming and the silver chiming 
Of the bells, distant bells, ringing all the day. 

Oh, the woods, the green woods stretching all 
around me. 
How I love the gloom and glimmer of the 
trees ; 
How I love the birds and flowers that surround 
me. 
And the hum in the lum of the belted bees ! 



THE VIKING'S DAUGHTER 

She pauses beside the water, 

A vision of angel grace, 
The sea-king's beautiful daughter, 

The child of a royal race ; 
And the wanton winds that sought her 

Grow faint in her soft embrace. 
For the Queen of Love has brought her 

The charms of a fairy face. 

She stands by the sombre ocean, 

As lovely as she, of yore, 
The mother of sweet Erotion, 

The nymph that the billows bore 
And swept with musical motion 

To the silver-sanded shore. 
She speaks, and the waves' devotion 

Is seen, for they cease to roar. 

128 



THE VIKING'S DAUGHTER 

She speaks, and the winds that dying 

For love of her luscious lips 
Are charmed like the flower sighing 

At touch of her finger-tips ; 
And the sea-mews, calling and crying 

As the wing in the water dips, 
At the musical sounds come flying 

To the shore where the sunshine slips. 



In the golden tresses that cover 

Shoulders that gleam and that glow. 
And a brow like heaven above her, 

A brow as pure as the snow ; 
And the sea-gulls circle and hover 

Round the beautiful maid below. 
For they, like the sunbeams, love her. 

The waves and the winds that blow. 



O Queen of the golden tresses, 

O maid of the faultless face, 
O Bride that thy robe caresses 

In its lines of gliding grace, 
Thrice blessed the prince who possesses 

Thy love, as free from all trace 
Of stain as the jewelled jesses 

Of the sun's high dwelling-place ! 
129 



THE VIKING'S DAUGHTER 

Yes, happy whom thy decision 

Makes lord of thy beauty bright, 
Thy beauty like to a vision 

Of the starry Queen of Night ; 
Thy love that knows no division. 

Love pure as the foam-bells white, 
For life is a field Elysian 

To the heart thy smiles requite. 



THE CHRISTIAN'S TRUST 

Though the skies be black above me, and though 
lightnings hurtle round, 
Still I trust me in the keeping of the Lord ; 
And although the road be lonely, and though evil 
shapes abound, 
God above shall be my armor and my sword. 

Though, like Sidrach and his brothers, in the fur- 
nace I be cast, 
Still I will not blanch, but call upon His name ; 
And the God that saved the Hebrews from the 
hot breath of the blast 
Will give ear to me, and quench the roaring 
flame. 

Though oppression be my portion, and the perse- 
cutor's scourge, 
Still in God, the potent King, will I confide ; 
131 



THE CHRISTIAN'S TRUST 

And the Lord that led the Hebrews through the 
Red Sea's rolling surge 
Will lead me, I know, through sorrow's bitter 
tide. 

Though, like Job, I be afflicted and be mocked at 
by mine own, — 
Yea, though all the fickle world abandon me, — 
Still I will not grow disheartened nor beneath my 
burden groan 
If, O Lord of light and love, I still have Thee ! 

For, O Lord, if I have Thee, what are sorrows 

here below ? 

What is pain compared with happiness above ? 

In Thy smile I will forget them, all the wickedness 

and woe. 

And the sunshine and the music of Thy love ! 

Then be Thy trust, my spirit, in the goodness of 
the Lord, 
Who will lead thee yet into the Promised Land : 
Be His beauty thy protection, and His glory be 
thy sword. 
And thine only strength the shadow of His 
hand. 



ON AN AUTUMN LEAF FOUND 
IN A BOOK 

Forgive tlie teardrops falling 

On the yellow leaflet sere, 
I hear in the darkness calling 

A voice that I used to hear. 
I see a face of sweetness 

In the fitful firelight there, 
A form of rich completeness, 

And a lady's graceful air. 
But pale and cold 
'Neath hair of gold 
Is the marble forehead I behold. 



The gold and crimson lingers 
On the leaflet dry and bare ; 

But, oh, how changed the fingers 
That silently placed it there ! 



ON AN AUTUMN LEAF IN A BOOK 

Where now the look of splendor 

On that truthful, sweet, dear face, 
The liquid eyes so tender, 
And the airy, matchless grace ? 
Ah ! still and cold 
Within the mould 
Lies the lady fair with hair of gold ! 

Alas for the useless sighing, 

Alas for the tears are shed ! 
Alas for the hapless dying. 

And the chill and mouldering dead ! 
Alas for the hopeless living. 

For those that weep and yearn ; 
And for death, the unforgiving. 

From whose bourne there's no return ! 
Alas for life 
With sorrows rife, 
An empty hour of noise and strife ! 

Ah, never a bell is ringing. 
But a patient sufferer dies ; 

Ah, never a child is singing. 
But another faintly cries ! 

Ah, never a dawn is breaking 
O'er the dark and sullen sea, 

134 



ON AN AUTUMN LEAF IN A BOOK 

But widowed hearts are aching, 
Some eyes weep silently. 

There is no joy 

Without alloy, 
No flower that frost will not destroy. 



DANTE 

Gaze on that face, that pitiless, cold face, 

Chiselled in granite, hardest of the hills ; 
That visage grim, wherein the eye may trace 

Records of JEtna fires, and hate that kills ; 
That grim, stern countenance, whereon is graved, 

In deep, incisive lines, a tragedy 
As dark as his who erst Jehovah braved, 

And fell, condemned for all eternity. 

Mark the thin lips, that curve and curl with scorn, 

The iron lips, as silent as the tomb, 
The haggard look, remorseful and forlorn, 

The sunken cheeks, and beetling brow of gloom. 
And note those eyes, those deep-set, ferret eyes 

That seem to pierce the Future's mystery. 
And, peering far beyond the under-skies. 

Fix their stern look upon Infinity. 
186 



DANTE 

The Sphinx that looks with solemn, stony gaze 

Across the desert world of shifting sand, 
And locks the secrets of all ancient days 

Within its awful lips in silence grand. 
The sombre Sphinx with all its mystery 

Is not more mystic, saturnine, and glum 
Than this dark face that looks disdainfully 

On all the world of men that go and come. 

The Judge of hell, the judge the pagans drew, 

The grim, inexorable god who sate 
Girded with thunder, and ruled Hades' crew. 

Glowering upon the damned with eyes of hate, 
The frowning judge of the infernal pit 

Had not so dark, so stern and gaunt a face 
As this man, looking out with thunder-lit 

And piercing eyes into the realms of space. 

O'erweening pride, and spleenish discontent, 

Sorrow, despair, and disappointment keen. 
Supreme contempt of all the world, are blent 

In this strong face, this lofty, noble mien. 
Long years of bitter banishment are writ 

In trenchant lines upon this visage lean ; 
And abnegation stern is stamped on it, 

And firm, abiding faith in the unseen. 
137 



DANTE 

It is the grim, hard face of Hildebrand, 

The eagle beak, the conqueror's firm jaw, 
The lofty, Roman look that spake command. 

The iron lips, that make the iron law. 
Yet there is somewhat, too, of tenderness 

And sensibility, most exquisite. 
In that torque countenance, wherein distress 

Is read as on an oak-tree, thunder-split. 

Those are the eyes, the strong, unblasted eyes 

That braved the searing flames of hell's abyss. 
And, mounting upward to the over-skies, 

Undazzled gazed upon the Halls of Bliss. 
And even now they seem with baleful glare 

To look upon those scenes of happiness, 
To enter which the poet may not dare, 

Since Fate has branded him with wretchedness. 



Here on this brow, as on a monument, 

Is graved the history of human life, 
The hope, the love, the doubt and discontent. 

The pride, despair, the tumult and the strife. 
Here on this old, illuminated scroll 

Is writ the vanity of earthly things, 
The struggle of a mighty, eagle soul. 

That fain would rise upon its well-clipped wings. 
138 



DANTE 

Come, come away, leave Dante to bis woe. 

Leave him — the greatest mind of Italy — 
To curse the fickleness of things below, 

The world's unrest and instability. 
Leave him alone, to brood upon his fate, 

To think that Nature made the man a King, 
But Fortune drove him from his high estate, 

A most despondent, abject, wretched thing. 

Come, come away, and let the curtain fall 

Upon this picture of as great a man 
As ever trod upon this earthly ball 

Since through his course of conquest Caesar ran. 
His story is the story of a mind 

Too vast, colossal, for this narrow world 
In which it would not, could not be confined. 

And, therefore, star-like, from its throne was 
hurled. 



THE MUSE OF POETRY 

Oh, but she is beautiful, 

And, oh, but she is fair ! 
A white rose in her bosom 

And a red rose in her hair ; 
The crimson of the peach-bloom 

Upon her cheeks of musk ; 
The splendor of the stars in 

Her eyes as dark as dusk. 

Oh, but she is lissom. 

And, oh, but she is sweet ! 
With sunlight shining in her face 

And flowers at her feet ; 
R,uby-red the lips of her ; 

Black her eyes as sloe. 
Oh, but she is graceful as 

The slender snow-white doe 

140 



THE MUSE OF POETRY 

Oh, but she is lovable, 

Winsome as can be ! 
Music on her crimson lips 

And laughter light and free ; 
Glory in her golden face 

And gladness in her eyes ; 
Beauty in the soul of her 

Like starlight in the skies. 

All around her fly the birds, 

Greeting her with song ; 
Singing of the rainbow bright 

All the summer long. 
All around her blossom flowers, 

The rose and lily white ; 
For she is kinder, sweeter, 

Than the sweet September light. 

Glory of the firmament, 

Sunlight of the earth ; 
Best of all that's beautiful 

In music and in earth ; 
Fragrance of the eglantine, 

Freshness of the breeze ; 
Oh, but she is heaven-sent, 

To give to men heart's ease ! 



INDIAN SUMMER 

Now the winding ways are yellow 

With the waving golden-rod ; 
And the thrushes in the brushes 

Chant a psean of praise to God, — 
Singing, singing in the sun 

Shining on the rill and run. 
And the veery, ever cheery, 

Sings of days now dead and done. 

Now the royal purple aster 

Beautifies the banks and braes, 
And the mellow apples yellow 

Glimmer in the golden haze. 
Bluer, bluer are the skies 

Than a maiden's violet eyes. 
And the sunny bee, with honey, 

Through the dreamy sunlight flies. 

142 



INDIAN SUMMER 

Bright the sumach plumes are burning, 

And the leaves are turning gold. 
And the river, with a shiver. 

Gives a hint of coming cold. 
Reaping, reaping in the fields. 

Gather they the golden yields ; 
While the hayers up in layers 

Pile the grasses in the bields. 



IN DARK DECEMBER 

Oh, for the beauty that's faded and fled,— 

Faded and fled, and forever ! 
Oh, for the blush and the flush of the rose, 
The song of the finch where the rivulet flows. 
The smell of magnolia-buds whiter than snows, 

And the face that will come to me never ! 

Oh, for the splendor of suns that were red. 

But are dead in the darkness forever ! 

Oh, for the bells that were heaven to hear, 

That filled with the music of silver the ear. 

When life was a diamond that now is a tear, 

And friends were too firm to dissever ! 

Oh, for the roseal hopes that are dead, 

Shattered and scattered forever ! 
Oh, for the glories are faded away, 
Stars that receded with rise of the day ; 
Promises bright as the ships in the bay. 

But were idle as if they were never ! 
144 



IN DARK DECEMBER 

Life is a garden of roses, all red 

For some, that are fortunate ever ; 
But it's a battle, a bitter one, too. 
Unto the many, the tried and the true, 
Pure as the foam-bells out there on the blue ; 
And, ah, it will better be never. 



MAPLE-SUGAR TIME 

Oh, these are the days when the woodland ways 

With the forester's axe are ringing, 
And the bluebird bold, in the clear air cold, 

Of the lucent syrup is singing. 

For these are the days when the sun's warm rays 

Set the sap in the maple flowing, 
And the woods are bright with snow-drifts white. 

And the roseal firelight glowing. 

For it's sugar time, maple-sugar time, 
And the men on the trees are tapping ; 

And the birds reply on the birches high 
To the rhyme of their rhythmic rapping. 

Oh, the laugh and cheer in the strong young 
year. 
When the sap in the pails is dripping, 
And the golden glow of the fire on the snow, 
And the nights, so frosty and nipping ! 
146 



MAPLE-SUGAK TIME 

Oh, the feathered flocks, and the patient ox, 
With the cumbersome sledge behind him ; 

The track of the fox leading over the rocks. 
And the lads all alert to find him ! 

Ah, these merrj days by the camp-fire's blaze, 
When the toilers cease from their droiling. 

And stories are told in the crisp air cold 
While the monster kettles are boiling ! 

Weird legends and long of the red wolf strong. 
And the fight of the bear and the beagle ; 

And the monster snake that lurks in the lake, 
And the wonderful pearl-white eagle. 

Oh, the hearty boys, I can hear their noise, 
And can see their bright eyes glisten. 

In the fires that glow in the ruddy snow, 
As they sit on the logs and listen ! 

And, though far away in the city gay. 
My heart is aback in the brushes, 

Where the axes ring and the woodmen sing, 
And the sap from the maple gushes. 



A SONG OF THE IRON LIONS 

Sing me no song of the golden guitar, 

Sing me no lorn lover's story ; 
But sing of the gun as it flames in the sun 

And peals out a psean of glory ! 

Sing me a song, and, oh, let it be strong 
Of the musketry's clatter and rattle. 

Of the terrible flash and the thunderous crash 
And the wind and the whirlwind of battle. 

Sing of the gleaming of steel in the sun 
And the flaming and flapping of banners : 

Of the battle-smoke black, and the clangor and 
crack — 
And the battlefield's barbarous manners. 

Sing me a song of the neighing of steeds 

And the dashing and rushing through thunder. 

Of the massing of hordes and the flashing of swords, 
And the serried ranks riven in sunder. 
148 



A SONG OF THE IRON LIONS 

Of the war-trumpet sing with its jubilant ring, 
And the mortar's demoniac screaming, 

And the trample and rush, and the flash and the 
flush 
Of our flag in the battle-front streaming. 

For our soldiers are slain, and their blood on the 
plain 
Calls out for revenge to high Heaven ; 
And we'll wash out the stain in the battle's black 
rain 
And the battle-cloud's terrible levin. 



TWENTY YEARS 

At twenty years the heart is like the blossoming 
of Spring 

The blood is like the rushing of the rills ; 
And life is like a rainbow with its iridescent ring 

As it lies like a halo on the hills. 

At twenty years this world of ours is Paradise in- 
deed: 
There's a song-sparrow singing in each tree : 
There's a pathway of primroses in every dewy 
mead 
Where the sunshine is sleeping dreamily. 

Oh, at twenty years a woman never knows an ache 
or pain, 
And a man is like a vigorous young oak 
That is nurtured by the sunshine, and is nourished 
by the rain, 
And is sheltered from the thunder-light's stroke. 
150 



TWENTY YEARS 

At twenty years the cheek is red, the step is light 
and free, 

There's never in the world a cark or care ; 
And labor in the meadow or the mill, as it may be, 

We never tire nor feel the load we bear. 



At twenty years the heart retains its love for fel- 
low-men 
And never knows suspicion nor mistrust ; 
And the feelings are as fresh as the wild-rose in the 
glen, 
For the soul is yet a stranger to lust. 

At twenty years the eyes are clear and brilliant as 
a star. 

The mind is like a mountain eagle strong : 
The heart is full of hope like a vessel from afar 

That is homeward gayly sailing along. 

At twenty years we still believe in everything 
that's good 
And square our life to duty and to right, 
And have a lofty sense of love and truth and 
womanhood. 
And keep our spirits beautiful and bright. 

151 



TWENTY YEARS 

The peasant-boy at twenty years is noble as a king, 
The peasant girl is every inch a queen ; 

For happiness is royal, and will make the meanest 
thing 
As noble as the loftiest, I ween. 

At twenty years a lively lad will run a race with 
death, 
And leave the grim hyena far behind ; 
Or make the romping loomgale stop to catch its 
panting breath. 
For its swift feet are faster than the wind. 

O twenty years ! O twenty years ! how beautiful 
you are. 
As you stand like the sun on the hills ! 
Your beauty is the beauty of the angels in the 
star, 
And your music is the music of the rills ! 

O twenty years ! How many kings would lay the 
crown aside. 
How many merchant princes give their gold, 
If but once again with thee on the river they could 
glide. 
Or with thee walk again upon the wold ! 



THE NEW-MADE GRAVE 

Out there under the starry skies 
A mound of earth and a mass of flowers 

Mark the spot where a maiden lies, 
As happy once as the golden hours. 

A little hillock of sacred earth 

Rises above the loveliest girl 
That ever beneath the stars had birth, 

That ever was formed of musk and pearl, 

A little hillock of earth, but, oh, 

The mines of Nevada ne'er contained 

A treasure so rich as lies below. 

In her radiant beauty, all unstained. 

A cross of roses is at her head. 

And a harp stands at the feet of her, 

And ribbons soiled with the tears were shed 
Lie there in knots and hint of myrrh. 
153 



THE NEW-MADE GRAVE 

Monument there is none to mark 

The spot where the marble maiden lies, 

But the vesper star in the over-dark 

Shines straight down from the silent skies. 

Oh, many a face has the world to show. 

Many a lady in silk and furs ; 
But never a maid so sweet, I trow. 

And never a face so fine as hers ! 

The world has many a prize to win. 

Many a favor fair to bestow ; 
But gold and honors are vile as tin 

To him whose treasure lies hid below. 

The sun may shine, and the roses bloom, 
And the white-winged ships sail o'er the sea 

The stars may gleam in the purple gloom, 
But never again shall beam for me. 



THE EXECUTION OF MARSHAL 

NEY 

They led him forth from prison, 

The bravest of the brave, 
His hero hands in iron bands, 

As if he were a slave. 
A thousand men stood round him, 

And glared on him with hate ; 
But none so proud in all that crowd 

As he, the bold and great. 

The noble lord of Moskwa, 

Him of the lion heart. 
The kingliest man of kingly men, 

They led into the mart. 
They led him to the market-place 

Amid the mournful roll 
Of muffled drums, — a prince in face, 

A demi-god in soul. 
155 



EXECUTION OF MARSHAL NEY 

There in the square the hero stood, 

His hands behind him bound, 
Straight and tall, and firm as a wall, 

And glanced o'er the thousands round ; 
Gazed with an eye as fearless 

On the haughty Bourbons there 
As he used to gaze through the battle-blaze 

And the battle's thunderous air. 



Sublime as a god in combat. 

Or a Hebrew bard of old. 
He stood in the mass, a tower of brass, 

And to bold looks flung as bold. 
Yes, strong as the god of battle, 

He stood in the eyes of all. 
As oft he stood on the field of blood, 

'Mid the scream of shell and ball. 

Then a line was formed before him, 

Of a score of musketeers, 
And the Bourbon flag flew o'er him. 

And the Bourbons gave three cheers ; 
But never he trembled in lip or limb. 

And never an eyelid stirred. 
As if he saw not the flaunted flag, 

Nor the vulgar shouting heard. 
156 



EXECUTION OF MARSHAL NEY 

" Soldiers of France," the captain 

Of the guardsmen sternly said, 
" When the wand I wave, fire at the knave, 

And shoot the traitor dead ! " 
Then silence like a death-eclipse 

O'ershadowed the market-place, 
And wrapped the crowd as in a shroud. 

And darkened the marshal's face. 



Ney's full lips paled and quivered ; 

The cheeks turned white and red : 
He heaved his breast with pain distressed, 

But never a word he said. 
Then, fixing those fierce eyes of his 

Upon the captain's face. 
He made him cower beneath their power. 

And filled him with disgrace. 

Now stepped a soldier forward. 

One of the marshal's men, 
Who fought with him at Hohenlinn 

And at red Elchingen ; 
And, taking out a kerchief, 

He made as if to bind 
Within its fold those eyes so bold. 

Of the lord of human-kind. 
157 



EXECUTION OF MARSHAL KEY 

Then spake the grand old marshal, 

And his face with anger blazed. 
" Bind not these eyes," he fiercely said, 

" For, coward, they have gazed 
Into the guns of Jena 

When they were lightning-lit ; 
And they have seen the bloody green 

Of Friedland, thunder-split. 

" And they have shone when Glory's sun 

On bloody Bautzen blazed ; 
And they have glowed when Victory trode 

On Lutzen battle-crazed ; 
And they have seen the lightnings flash 

On Moskwa's crimson tide, 
When France beneath her conquering lance 

Lowered Russia's savage pride. 

" Bind not these eyes, for they have gazed 

On Death a thousand times. 
And marked the troops of France advance 

Into a dozen climes. 
They've seen her battle-banner wave 

Upon the Pyrenees, 
And 'mid the foes on Russian snows 

They've seen that standard freeze ! 
158 



EXECUTION OF MARSHAL NEY 

" Since I must die, then let me die 

As I would in the fight ; 
Mine eyes unveiled, as our line assailed 

And put the foe to flight. 
Yea, let me die, as I have lived, 

All fetterless and free ; 
And let me look on Death with eyes 

That looked on Victory." 

A murmur of approval ran 

Throughout the swaying crowd ; 
And many a maid and many a man 

Felt for the soldier proud, 
Felt for the grand old marshal. 

Who had fought the fights of France 
Since he could hold a musket old 

Or carry a pike or lance. 

Then spake again the captain, 

And his eyes were bright with ire, 
" Make ready again, make ready, my men, 

On the traitor there to fire ! " 
A hush as of death stole over 

The crowd, and an icy chill ; 
And a man might hear the beating clear 

Of his heart, it was so still. 

159 



EXECUTION OF MARSHAL NEY 

And like a lion stood there 

The hero calm and bold ; 
And he held his head as if he led 

The Guard as he did of old : 
Firm as a granite wall he stood, 

And the people held their breath, 
Till the captain's hand let fall the wand 

That gave the sign for death. 

Then twenty deadly rifles rang, 

And twenty bullets sped, 
And round in a ring the marshal spun. 

And then on his face fell dead, 
Shot through the heart by a musket ball. 

Shot through the head and lung ; 
And the women moaned and the soldiers 

groaned 
As the balls o'er the hero sung. 

And thus he died, the people's pride, 

The bravest of the brave. 
Who fought on a hundred battlefields. 

His fatherland to save. 
Thus did the great colossus fall, 

And with him Glory died ; 
While Freedom fled from the valley red 

To her home on the mountain-side. 



THE MEN OF THE MERRIMAC 

(To Frbdeeic Allison Tuppee) 

Out in the gray of the dawn they sailed, 

The murky light of the dawn ; 
And their hearts for a moment never quailed, 
Though the bravest men in the navy paled 

As they sailed away that morn. 
For the sailors knew that the gallant crew 

Were going down to their doom ; 
To the mouth of hell, 'mid shot and shell, 
To destruction fell with its iron yell. 

And the boom of the bolts in the gloom : 
To death, by the shell that fell, pell-mell, 

And the cyclone's red simoom. 

Out on the silent sea they went. 

While the boldest held their breath ; 

Out in the gloom of the tomb, intent 

In blocking up the armada pent 
In the bay, or in meeting death. 
161 



THE MEN OF THE MERRIMAC 

Out in the spume, in the gloom of doom, 

In the mystic morning light. 
To the black abyss, 'neath the precipice, 
To the gulf where the seething waters hiss 

And foam into fury white 
They went as men go forth to bliss 

Or the banquet-table bright. 

Onward, on to the strait they steamed, 

'Neath the guns of Morro black ; 
Onward, on through the neck, till it seemed 
That the Spanish soldiers slept and dreamed 

In the track of the Merrimac. 
On, 'neath the walls with their castled halls, 

'Neath the frowning hills they crept, 
Till the flash and crash, and plunge and plash 
Of screaming shells that fell with a splash, 

And thunder-light that around them leapt, 
Informed the Yankees brave and brash 

That the Dons no longer slept. 

But on, through the hell of shot and shell. 
Through the jaws of death they sailed ; 
'Mid the bombs that rose and fell with a yell 
On the wind of fire and the whirlwind's swell 
They plunged, and they never paled. 
162 



THE MEN OF THE MERRIMAC 

On, through a poundhig, bounding sea, 
In the thunder's teeth they steamed, 

'Mid the blore and roar of the Krupps ashore, 

And the guns on the hills and the castles hoar, 
That blazed and glowered and gleamed ; 

And the fire of the fleet in the bay before, 
And the bolts that behind them screamed. 

On, while the lightning lit the hills. 

While a thousand rifles rang ; 
While the thunder-light from the forts and mills 
Leaped down the rocks like roaring rills, 

And the balls round the heroes sang ; 
On through a furnace fierce of flame. 

Through the very gates of hell, 
Through the fiery gale and the iron hail 
That swept the decks o'er the heroes pale. 

And around like rockets fell, 
The Yankees sailed, 'mid the whine and wail 

And the yell of the screaming shell. 

Up to the narrow neck they steamed, 

In the face of the great Colon ; 
And they swung around in a fire that gleamed 
From the Krupps and the dynamite guns that 
screamed. 
And a blaze that about them shone. 
163 



THE MEN OF THE MERRIMAC 

Kound in the narrow neck they swung, 

The Merrimac riddled o'er, 
Till a Spanish mine in the boiling brine 
Blew up, with a fury tigerine, 

And a roar from the burning shore ; 
And the ship, with a rip on her water-line, 

Rose up, and stood on her prore. 

Then a thousand Spanish seamen yelled 

And roared, and shrieked with glee, 
As the ship went up, that they shot and shelled ; 
And the crew that till now their places held 

Cut the raft and leaped in the sea, 
Leaped out in the brine that was red as wine 

From the light of the rain of lead 
That swept the ship from stern to tip, 
And ploughed the sea with a roar and a rip. 

Till the churning waves were red. 
And crashed with the clash of a thunder-clip 

O'er the Yankee tars, half-dead. 

For hours each man on the catamaran 

On his face and hands lay down, 
'Through a storm of shot till the day began. 
And the Spanish tars through the mist could scan 

On the raft the seamen brown. 
164 



THE MEN OF THE MERRIMAC 

Then a boat put out with a ringing shout, 

And the Admiral sat in the prore 
With an air of command, and he raised his hand 
And bade them fire no more on the band. 

For the struggle now was o'er ; 
And he picked up the Yankee heroes grand. 

And bore them back to the shore. 



Thus the Merrimac in the narrow track 

Of the bay was sunk that day ; 
And the Spanish fleet, by the Yankee Jack, 
Was blocked, as well as the collier black 

Could lock up and bar the way. 
All honor, then, to the wonderful men 

That so grand a deed could do. 
That could sail through hell 'mid the cannon's yell> 
And the storm of fire and the shower of shell 

And of steel that around them flew ; 
Where the thunderbolts all around them fell, 

And the tempest above them blew. 



' THE ELFIN'S SONG 

Out of glimmer and gloss, out of shimmer and 
sheen, 
Out of lustres that linger in light on the lawn, 
Out of gossamer fine as the silvery screen 

That the elves round the snowy white shoulders 
have drawn 
Of their queen 
On the green, 
Are the vaporous visions of valley-land spun, 
And the dreams of the dragon that sleeps in the 
sun. 

From the fragrance the flower of the eglantine 
flings, 
From the lilac, the lavender, lily and all. 
From the gold-dust that falls from the butterfly's 
wings. 
And the starlight that silvers the runlets that 
brawl. 
Or that purl 
With a whirl, 
166 



THE ELFIN'S SONG 

Are the purple-bright phantasies woven that pass 
O'er the soul of the sleeper like clouds in a glass. 

And the song of the sirens that sing in the sea 

We breathe on the sibylline spirit that sleeps, 
And the fumes of the poppy that pales on the lea, 
And the redolent odor the jessamine keeps 
For the light 
Of the night, 
We inweave in a silken somniferous net 
That enchants like the touch of a charmed amulet. 



ALL, ALL IS VANITY 

All, all is vanity ! 
The kings that built the Pyramids of Nile 

Builded them solely to preserve their name ; 
But ere those kings were dead a little while, 
Alike forgotten were their deeds and fame. 
The old stone mountains that entomb their dust 
Four thousand years have gazed across the 
sand ; 
But they that builded them are turned to rust. 
Their names forgotten, and their titles grand. 
All, all is vanity ! 

All, all is vanity ! 
The Grecian madman that would rule the world, 

And fill mankind with wonder at his deeds, 
Ere yet success his fevered brow impearled, 

Died, unregretted, like his slaves and steeds. 
His very tomb has perished like his name ; 
His empire vast has sunk beneath the wave, 
168 



ALL, ALL IS VANITY 

And he who lived the very slave of fame 
Lies like a slave in a forgotten grave. 
All, all is vanity ! 

All, all is vanity ! 
The songs Erinna sung, where are they now ? 
Although she wrote that they might live for 
e'er. 
Where are the laurel leaves that graced her brow ? 

The statues builded to her genius rare ? 
Alas ! the rival of old Homer sleeps 

Unknown, beside the loud resounding sea. 
And not a single song Dame Fortune keeps 
To make perpetual her memory. 
All, all is vanity ! 

All, all is vanity ! 
A statue stands, the wonder of mankind, 

Divine as music, pure as sunlit snow ; 
But he who wrought it, in oblivion blind 

Sleeps like the roses of the long ago. 
Apelles painted for eternity, 

Whole years he labored on a single face ; 
But he has vanished from men's memory. 

And of his work remains not e'en a trace. 
All, all is vanity ! 

169 



ALL, ALL IS VANITY 

All, all is vanity ! 
For love the world was lost to Antony : 

For love of that sleek tigress of the Nile, 
Who dazzled all men by her brilliancy. 

And made the world hang on her frown or 
smile. 
For love of Helen, Paris lost his life 

And brought destruction down on ancient Troy ; 
Yet was the woman worthless, — no man's wife, 
But everybody's leman, trull, and toy. 
All, all is vanity ! 

All, all is vanity ! 
The goals we strive for are not worth the strife. 

Joy turns to ashes on our very lips : 
Death is the sad solution of all life, 

And glory suffers a severe eclipse. 
The world is little when we view it well ; 

And we are little when we think aright : 
Mere children flattered by a tinkling bell, 

Or caught with baubles, and with tinsel bright. 
All, all is vanity ! 



WAR 

War at best is a brutal game, a thing of the pagan 

past, 
When men were burned at the cruel stake, and to 

the tigers cast. 
It served its end in the iron age, and, when that 

age was o'er, 
It should have passed with the manners rude, the 

wild wolf and the boar. 

In a civilization such as ours, a century such as 
this, 

When man can signal across the world, and bridge 
the vast abyss. 

When he can weigh the sun and stars, and meas- 
ure the speed of light. 

Rude war should have no more a place than the 
gladiator's fight. 

171 



WAR 

Sober thought in a thinking age alone should have 

the rule : 
Fire and sword are the arguments and the reasons 

of the fool : 
What is our education, if it does not refine the 

mind, 
If it does not check the brute within, our raging 

passions bind ? 

Why should the savage's thunder-drum be rolled 
by men to-day : 

Why should scholars and sages go forth their 
fellows to slay : 

Are we too weak of wit to compose existing 
troubles between 

Two states, without recourse to arms and the dyna- 
mite-machine ? 

Call we ourselves true Christian men, true lovers 

of Christ the Lord, 
Ruthless men of the brand as we are, ruthless men 

of the sword : 
Is the law of love exemplified in actions rank with 

hate. 
Does revenge consist with Scripture, is it right to 

retaliate ? 

172 



WAR 

Children of light we call ourselves, men of the 
book and pen ; 

But we act like children of darkness, savage, 
benighted men: 

Tell me in what do we differ, who advocate bloody- 
war, 

From the cruel brute, who scarcely knows the 
cause he's fighting for ? 



War is but glorified murder, — yes, murder sub- 
limed and raised, 

To a noble art, and rewarded, emblazoned, and 
highly praised. 

'Tis Butchery apotheosized, Lust set up as a god: 

'Tis the primacy of power, the reign of the iron 
rod. 



War means penury, suffering, destruction by fire 

and sword, 
Horror, disease, disorder, the rule of the barbarous 

horde : 
Death to thousands upon the field, and death to 

hundreds at home ; 
And all, that our standard we might raise on our 

foeman's proudest dome. 
173 



WAR 

Fields of blood for a scrap of land, a rock or two 

in the sea : 
Fever and sorrow and suffering, that an empire 

we might be ! 
Say, is it worth the lives are lost, is it worth the 

blood is shed, 
Is fame so dear it must be bought by an army of 

the dead? 



Ah, 'tis a brutal prize-fight, a nation's most terrible 

curse : 
With a country offered as a prize, a people as the 

purse ; 
And the nations all should band themselves and 

vote that war must cease, 
And form a confederation in the interests of peace. 



Peace has ever meant Progress, the national 

wealth and weal; 
But War is retrogressional, the putting back of 

the wheel 
Of culture, civilization, a hundred years or more, 
A rude return to the order that prevailed in days 

of yore. 

174 



WAR 

And I long for the time when thunder-smoke no 
more shall cloud the sun, 

And the gospel of peace shall triumph o'er the 
gospel of the gun : 

When state-affairs shall be resolved by force of 
voice or pen, 

And a royal fellowship of love shall bind all fellow- 
men. 



MURIELLA 

Darkness velvety, darkness deep, 
Dusky deep as the wings of the night, 

Floats in her hair, and loves to keep 

Her reign in her eyes that beam with light ; 

Eyes so lovely, so full of splendor, 

Eyes so sunny, so true and tender. 

All that look in their deeps surrender 
Heart and soul to their beauty bright. 

Sunshine beautiful, sunshine sweet. 

Soft and sweet as the glimmer and gleen 
Of seraphim smiles when angels meet, 

Gleams and glows in her gracious mien ; 
Sparkles and flashes, and burns and beams 
In her soft brown eyes, and smiles and dreams 
On her crimson cheeks, and glides and gleams. 
From her fresh young lips to her brow serene. 
176 



MURIELLA 

Music, luscious as ever the song 

Gurgled and bubbled from bobolink's throat, 
Or unto the oriole doth belong, 

Ripples and glides in her every note ; 
Rises and falls in a cadence low, 
Like the siren songs that the breezes blow 
Down the dimpling, rimpling rillets that flow 

To the fens afar, from the rise remote. 



Beauty fair as the gods confer 

Blushes and blooms in her truthful face. 
Filling with music the heart of her. 

Rounding her lines into curves of grace. 
Gentleness, fine as the gossamer 
That the faintest, softest winds can stir, 
Kindness sweet as the breath of myrrh, 

Makes her favored in every place. 

Always cheery when days are dark. 

Always happy when skies are bright, 
Surely, she has a heavenly lark 

Snugly hid in her heart, out of sight : 
A beautiful lark, that swings and sings 
Of love, and lilacs, and all sweet things, 
And unto the little maiden brings 
Golden dreams of joy and delight. 



A SERMON IN VERSE 

O LiT'E, how fair and false you are, how like a hiren 

bold 
Who gives her sweetest smiles to him who has the 

most of gold : 
You hold the cup of happiness unto the lips of 

all; 
But ere the wretch can taste the wine, you dash it 

'gainst the wall. 

You give us wealth of flowers, but your whitest, 

brightest blooms 
Your fairest, rarest roses are all gathered for the 

tombs : 
You give us wealth of music, but your sweetest 

music ends 
In the requiem and death-dirge that we chant above 

our friends ! 

178 



A SERMON IN VERSE 

You give us gold, but take away what gold can 

never buy, — 
The life-blood of the maiden's heart, the live-light 

of her eye. 
You give us royal purples in the sunset sky o'er- 

head, 
But, ah ! you do not give us what we need most, — 

daily bread. 



You hold the star of hope out, but you lure, allure 

us on. 
Till we wander in the quagmire, and the gleaming 

light is gone. 
You bid us look unto the stars, those sea-shells on 

the shore 
Of Heaven, but, when so we look, you cloud the 

heavens o'er ! 



You mingle with your choicest sweets the seeds of 

bitterness. 
And with the hawk of sorrow chase the dove of 

happiness : 
The very hour that sees a young and lovely maiden 

wed. 
Beholds a fairer maiden in her casket lying dead. 

179 



A SERMON IN VERSE 

You prate of love and friendship, but, when we 
have made a friend. 

You take that friend, far, far away to earth's re- 
motest end. 

Of right you blate and babble, but you lead us in 
the wrong, 

And though you plead for weaklings, yet you 
battle for the strong. 



There's not a rose that ever grew but got its 
brilliant rud, 

Its crimson and vermilion, from the stain of human 
blood : 

There's not a lily in the vale, a violet by the way. 

But what is fed and nourished by the food of hu- 
man clay. 



O life, you wear a loo-mask to conceal your face 

of sin, 
A painted mask behind whose veil you mock at us 

and grin : 
Silk gloves you wear to hide the hair upon your 

freckled hand. 
Well used to wield the war-fork and the savage 

battle-brand ! 

180 



A SERMON IN VERSE 

Let others sing in jewelled verse your thrushes and 

your bowers, 
Your bellulated lilies and. your golden summer 

showers. 
To me your lilies whisper of the dear friends that 

are dead, 
And your sweetest warblers mind me of the voices 

that have fled ! 



THE TORRENT 

OvEK the precipice bounding 

And plunging into the abyss, 
'Mid caverns forever resounding 

With waters that battle and hiss, 
Like a thousand tiger-wolves leaping 

On the terrified quarry below, 
Roaring and rushing, and sweeping 

Adown the rough mountain, I go. 

Over the rocks rent in sunder 

By the earthquake's terrible might, 
I roll like an ocean of thunder, 

Flashing like gold in the light: 
Down to the river-gods calling, 

And taking the ledge at a leap 
I go splashing and Washing, and brawling, 

And plunge in the underwood deep 
182 



THE TORRENT 

Like to a Titan, a giant 

In the pride of his strength and his youth, 
I rush down the mountain defiant, 

And mindless of mercy and ruth 
Tear up the ash in his glory. 

Snap birches and poplars in twain. 
And, rooting up mountain oaks hoary, 

Descend in a flood on the plain. 

Sublime is the sight and the battle. 

When the tempest matches his might 
With mine, and the thunder-bolts rattle. 

And the skies are blacker than night. 
In vain he hurtles his lightning. 

To humble my power and my pride : 
I catch the bolts blazing and brightening, 

And quench them in scorn in my tide. 

Man's genius has conquered the ocean. 

He walks on the waters at will ; 
But vainly to cope with my notion. 

He puts forth his power and his skill. 
His engines I crash and I shatter, 

I snap like a twig all his chains : 
His mills and his timbers I scatter. 

And deluge his valleys and plains. 
183 



THE TOERENT 

Over the precipice bounding, 

And breaking in thunder below, 
'Mid caverns forever resounding, 

Like demons in terrible woe. 
With fuming and foaming, and flashing. 

As strong and resistless as Fate, 
I go rushing, and dashing, and crashing, 

Down deep in the gloom of hell-gate. 



AN OFFERING TO JESUS 

Flowers I would bring, the fairest and the 
whitest, 

If flush of flowers and bloom of buds could 
please 
Thy spirit most ; or gems the best and brightest 

That ever slumbered under silent seas ; 
Or silvern songs, the liquidest and lightest 

E'er sung in sunlight upon level leas ; 
Or myrrh, or musk, or melrose, for thou slightest 

Nor scornest. Lord, the slenderest of these. 
Flowers I would bring, but I will bring a fairer, 

A sweeter offering than blossoms bright. 
Gems I would bring, but I will bring a rarer, 

A richer gem than glitters in the night ; 
For, O Dear Lord, to-day I'll be the bearer 

Of thoughts as pure and lovely as the light ! 



THE LAND OF SONG 

In the summer night, when the wind is still 
That fretted the flowers the whole day long, 

And I hear the notes of the whip-poor-will 

As he flits along the purple hill, 
I love to enter the Land of Song. 

I love to float on the sky of thought. 
Like a cloud of pearl and amethyst, 
Or like a flower by the breezes caught, — 
A purple flower with perfume fraught, 
And borne to a land of golden mist. 

Oh, yes ! I delight to leave the strife. 
The sorry strife of a sordid world. 

And steal away to a larger life. 

With love and flowers and sunshine rife, — 
Where the very ground is impearled. 

Oh, the Land of Song is a land that lies 
Beyond the verge of the vermeil west, 
186 



THE LAND OF SONG 

Where the sunlit seas and the sunlit skies 
Merge into a golden paradise 
And isle of Elysian rest. 

And sirens singing across the sea 

To silver citherns and rebecs sweet 
Call over the waves seductively, 
And woo with the magic minstrelsy 
To their shady sylvan seat. 

And I enter the golden gate that bars 

The land of song from the land of strife ; 
And I gaze in awe on the sea of stars, 
And the champac flowers and camalatas, 
That bloom in this brighter life. 

And wandering on through the garden gay, 

With its flowers the fairest ever seen, 
Adown frescades where the fountains play, 
And fall and flash in the sun-bright ray, 
And fling their gems on the green, 

I come to the silvery sands that sing, 

The silver sands that sing in the sun, 
When the zephyr flits on his silken wing 
O'er the pebbles of pearl and makes them ring. 
Till the day in the west is done. 
187 



THE LAND OF SONG 

And, sauntering on towards the hills of gold, 
I come at last to the fountain bright, 

Where Undines play with the mermen bold 

In the blue pellucid waters cold, 
Or sing on the ribible light. 

And brilliant birds on brightest wing 
Sail over the sweetly scented scene. 

Or deeply hid among roses sing 

Such songs as only a seraph's string 
Can shake on the wind, I ween. 

And out of the aisles and alleys green 

Of the gloomy groves the sweetest strains 
Float over the dells the fells between. 
And fall on the flowers that glow and gleen, 
As softly as golden rains. 

Oh, it's silver song from the dappled dawn. 
When the smiling sun like a lily lies 

On the placid waves, till the morrow morn 

Relumes the lake and the lilac lawn 
In this wonderful paradise. 

And it's always May in the Land of Song, 

Where the brightest birds in the brightest 
bowers 

188 



THE LAND OF SONG 

Make love and music the whole day long, 
And the dimbles, dells, and dingles throng 
With the fairest, freshest flowers. 

And, oh ! the beauty, the bloom, the blush 

Of those flossy flowers that bud and blow 
On the banks and braes ! No painter's brush 
With the richest dyes can give the flush 
Of the garlands there that glow. 

For the brightest red is too pale a tint 

For the musky roses that flourish there ; 
And blue is black to the hues that print 
Their dyes on the lilacs light that glint 
In the balsam-breathing air. 

And vainly, vainly I pluck the blooms, 
The golden-flowers and the hyacinth. 

To plant below in my garden glooms ; 

But, ah ! they fade with their faint perfumes. 
The chamomile and the calaminth. 

And vainly, vainly the silver sands 

That sing and shine in the splendid sun, 
I try to take in mine eager hands : 
They melt like dews on the flowery bands. 
When the garish day's begun. 
189 



THE LAND OF SONG 

And the songs, — the marvellous melodies, 
That witch the sense till it swoons away. 

The songs that float o'er the lawns and leas, 

To reproduce on my lyre at ease. 
Oh, all in vain I essay ! 

For the blooth and beauty that blushes there. 

The dulcet notes and the glittering gems, 
So delicate, are, so fine and fair, 
They fail to live in our grosser air, 
And fade or wilt on the stems. 

And whosoe'er in that magic land 

Would fain its melodies take away. 
Is like to him who with eager hand 
Would grasp the light or the breezes bland 
That flit o'er the garden gay. 

Nor doth it avail the poet bright 

When, earthward flown, he attunes the lute 
To the songs he heard in the land of light ; 
For howsoever his fingers smite 

And sweep the strings, they are mute. 

Yes, vainly he sweeps the silver strings : 
The music back to the birds has fled ; 
Yet, 'oft when the star to the sleeper brings 
Sweet dreams, it flashes the light of its wings 
On his sleep — and then is sped. 



A CHRISTMAS CANZON 

Oh, the Merry Christmas, merry as a lark, 

A lark that is lilting up aloft : 
Oh, the Merry Christmas, — bells are ringing, hark ! 

And happy boys and girls are singing soft. 
Now's the time for laughter, now's the time for 
cheer, 

Now's the time for music and for song : 
Merry, Merry Christmas, best time of the year, 

Sing, and dance the golden hours along ! 

Oh, the Merry Christmas ! hang the holly up. 

Hang it on the window and the wall : 
Pass around the quinces, pass the kissing-cup. 

And let the sweetest music rise and fall ! 
This the time for pleasure, this the time for song. 

This the time for dancing and for cheer : 
Merry, Merry Christmas, laugh the hours along,- 

Christmas-time the sweetest of the year. 
191 



A CHRISTMAS CANZON 

Oh, the Merry Christmas ! stir the ruddy fire 

Light the cheerful candles in the room : 
Foot it featly, lads and lasses, till you tire, — 

And let the Christmas roses gayly bloom. 
For it's Merry Christmas, Christmas-tide again, 

Christmas-tide the brightest of the year ; 
And the song of angels, " Peace on earth to men," 

We lightly sing, and give you all good cheer. 

Oh, the Merry Christmas ! let the jewelled tree 

Glance and glitter in the rosy light : 
Let the happy children march around with glee, 

And clap their hands with gladness at the sight. 
But amid the love-feast let us not forget, 

Let us not forget the Wondrous Child, 
Little Infant Jesus, Mary's amoret. 

Lying in the manger, meek and mild. 

Oh, the Merry Christmas ! merry as a lark, 

A lark that is lilting up aloft : 
Oh, the Merry Christmas, — bells are ringing, hark ! 

And happy boys and girls are singing soft. 
Now's the time for laughter, now's the time for 
cheer, 

Now's the time for music and for song : 
Merry, Merry Christmas ! best time of the year, 

Sing, and dance the golden hours along ! 



THE QUEEN OF SUMMER 

On a windy April day, Elfin Elinor, the gay, 

Walked abroad, and with the light of her eyes 
Turned the morning breezes cold into aerated gold, 

And with sunshine filled the fields and the skies ; 
Then the trilliums, thinking it lilac-time. 

And the trailing arbutus bloomed, 
And the columbine bells swung to in the dells. 

And the violets the vale perfumed. 

Oh, the amaryllis red lifted up her royal head, 

And the mariet and primula pale. 
And the foxglove glowed where the rivulet flowed. 

And the orange lily lit up the dale ; 
For they thought that the light of Elinor's smile 

Was the warm sunny light of May, 
And they thought that the girl of the dark-brown 
curl 

Was the Queen of the Florets gay. 

193 



THE QUEEN OF SUMMER 

Now it happened that she sang, and the woods 
sweetly rang 

With the syllabled gold of her voice ; 
And the bobolink heard, and the bright bluebird, 

And the throstle, and they made rejoice. 
For they thought her song was the song of Spring 

That whistled for her birds and bees, 
And the sweet lintwhite, and the greenlet light 

Filled the woods with their melodies. 



AESCHYLUS 

Thy soul was grand as thine own mountains are, 
Grand as the crags of old Thermopylae, 
The cliffs that frown on Marathon's blue sea, 

And dark as he who drives the thunder-car 

Along the mountain-ridges, rock and scar ; 
And stormy with the Titan energy 
Of some dethroned, inferior deity. 

Struggling to mount again into its star ! 

Thine eloquence is as the eloquence 

Of the black cloud-burst, and the hurricane. 

Or the fire-mountain when it fiercely vents 
Its wrath in flames and lava on the plain ; 

And brilliant as the thunder-light intense 

That leaps and flashes through the driving rain ! 



INSPIRATION 

Inspiration, what is it ? The lustre that's thrown 
On the mind from the splendor of Heaven : 

It comes in a flash, in a flash it is flown, 
As brilliant and swift as the levin. 

Inspirations'are comets that sweep o'er the sky, 
Swift shooting-stars, falling while flaming. 

That suddenly coming, as suddenly fly. 
The speed of the vireo shaming. 

They are songs heard at night in the lull of the 
breeze 

From the stars in the firmament glistening ; 
Or songs of the sirens that sing in the seas 

To the minstrel, the troubadour listening. 

They are jewels that deep in the depth of the mine 
For some gleam and glitter not ever ; 
196 



INSPIRATION 

While for others, and often less wortliy,^they shine, 
A joy, and possession forever. 

Inspiration oft comes like a dream of delight : 
One cannot tell when the bright vision 

Will beam like a star on his innermost sight 
With glimpses of gardens Elysian. 

Nor will it remain at the poet's behest, 
Nor list to his honey-sweet wooing ; 

For shy as a dove it flies back to its nest 
For all of his pleading and suing. 

The bard, when the spark from above has inspired 

His spirit, is passively driven 
On the stream of his song, like a brigantine fired 

By the flames from the thunder-cloud riven. 

The sport of the tempest that seizes his soul. 
On the breast of his stormy emotion, 

He's swept with a fury that knows no control 
Afar on the limitless ocean. 

The bard is no more than the instrument fine 
On which the white hands unbeholden 

Of the genius of song play a music divine. 
Like that of Apollo the golden. 
197 



INSPIRATION 

He's but an ^olian harp in the breeze, 
And cannot but choose him to render 

The ^music that sweeps o'er the strings from the 
seas 
In tones that are merry or tender. 



THE BATTLE OF MANILA 

Unto Dewey be the honor and the glory, 

Who crushed the power Spain upon the sea. 
And of noble Dewey sing the ringing story, 
How he won the fight of all the century ; 
When his guns all spoke, and the line he broke 
Of the Spaniards, as he battled in the thunder- 
smoke, 
When his hurricane of steel made the great ar- 
mada reel, 
And sunk her 'mid the terrors of the thunder-peal ; 
When the whirlwind of death 
With its fiery, fiery breath 
Made the Don all the vengeance of the Yankee 
feel. 

In the darkness of the night-time as a cover, 

Dewey sailed into the mouth of Subig Bay. 
And the heavens watching o'er him like a lover 

Led him past the guns of old Malite gray ; 
Led him safely o'er the lines of the dynamite 
mines, 

199 



THE BATTLE OF MANILA 

WHle the dreaming Spaniard slept by his old car- 
bines, 
Unconscious that his power would be shattered in 

an hour 
By the terrible volcanoes that were soon to rain a 
shower — 
A storm of fire and steel 
To make their towers reel — 
And to blast them as the blizzard blights^ the 
flower. 



Past the islands, through the narrows and the 
channel, 
While they slept, crept the tigers of the sea, 
And came out into the bay beyond the cannel, 

All prepared for fearful fight and victory. 
Then the Spaniard woke as he saw the smoke, 
And the Spanish battle-cry on the ships of battle 

broke ; 
And to the guns they sprang, while the startled 

city rang 
With the rattle and the brattle, the clangor and 
the clang 
Of the rising battle-blast, 
As the rifles volleyed fast, 
And the shells the epic song of iron battle sang. 

200 



THE BATTLE OF MANILA 

Right before the frightened city lay the foeman, 
And his battle-ships were laden down with 
death ; 
And his sailors, full as daring as the Roman, 
Stood undaunted in the cannon's burning 
breath. 
Then the mortars screamed, and the levins 

gleamed, 
And in a trice the harbor like a hell-pit seemed, 
While a thousand cheers arose from our fierce and 

frantic foes. 
As they tried with Dewey's battle-ships to grap- 
ple and to close ; 
But a howling hurricane 
Of steel and iron rain 
From the Yankees sent them reeling 'neath the 
blows. 

Now the Yankee men-of-war came on in column, 
With Dewey and the flag-ship in the van ; 

Then there came a lull, an interval most solemn, 
And all nerved up to battle stood each man. 

Then came an awful roar, and the Spanish com- 
modore 

Tried to ram the great Olympia, and down upon 
her bore ; 

But the mighty Yankee guns threw their steel and 
lead in tons, 

201 



THE BATTLE OF MANILA 

And well-nigh 'neath the waters 'whelmed the 
grandee and his sons, 
Till the dragon-ships turned back 
'Neath the awful thunder-crack, 
Like mongrels that for fear from the royal lion 
runs. 

Sweeping grandly past the enemy's flotilla. 
Belching flame like volcanoes every one, 
Marched the Yankees, flinging fire into Manila, 
And hurling death and thunder on the Don. 
Then the tempest stronger blew, and the bullets 

faster flew, 
And the wild, cyclonic forces of the cannon 

louder grew; 
While the seas and skies were red with the thun- 
der-fires that sped. 
With the battle-bolts and bursting bombs that 
hurtled overhead. 
And again and yet again 
With the shrieks of wounded men 
The welkin rang, the furies sang above the dying 
and dead. 

Two torpedoes now like hurricanes went tearing 
Through the whirlpool wild of battle with a 

yell, 

202 



THE BATTLE OF MANILA 

But a thousand howling bombs and mortars glar- 
ing 
Struck the devil-ships and sent them into hell. 
With their steam full on, marching past the Don, 
Sailed the Yankee men-of-war while the fire of 

battle shone ; 
And each hero at the gun threw projectiles by the 

ton 
In the Spanish fleet, but not a man the fearful 
fight would shun. 
Though shattered were the ships 
By our awful thunder-clips. 
And though they knew they fought a fight that 
never could be won. 

Now the flag-ship of the Spaniard, badly battered 

And in flames, from the fearful fight withdrew ; 
And a second Spanish battle-ship, all shattered. 

In the hurricane went down, with all her crew. 
But, even while the junk 'neath the boiling waters 

sunk. 
The Spaniards fought like demons with the wine 

of battle drunk, 
And hurled their hate and lead at the victor Yan- 
kee's head, 
Till the hulls blew up in ruin and conflagration 
red. 

203 



THE BATTLE OF MANILA 

Yes, with their latest breath 
They worked the guns of death, 
And died, the bravest seamen that in battle ever 
bled. 

While the battle in the burning bay was roaring, 
And the earth was hid behind the red eclipse. 
All the guns in Fort Cavite gray were pouring 
Storms of steel upon the Yankee battle-ships. 
But right through the hell of screaming shot and 

shell, 
That swooped through the air with a most de- 
monic yell, 
Through the hot and burning blast swept the 

gunboats fast, 
Till the Spanish cruisers sank, all fighting to the 
last; 
And the air with fiery flecks 
And the sea was filled with wrecks, 
Like a harbor where a whirlwind or cyclone has 
passed. 

Thus was fought upon the waters of Manila 
Such a battle as was never fought before ; 
And the Spanish flag went down with the flotilla, 
And the power of Spain went down, to rise no 
more. 

204 



THE BATTLE OF MANILA 

Then sing a song of praise, for on that day of 

days 
The ancient home of slavery was given to the 

blaze ; 
The tyrant's chain was broke by the burning bat- 
tle-stroke, 
And the slave arose, a free-made man, and spurned 
the iron yoke. 
The new world to the old 
Spake a message brave and bold, 
That from her sleep of centuries the ancient one 
awoke. 



LIFE 

Say not that life is dreary, 
A wilderness of wickedness and woe ; 

That the heart of man is weary, 
As a spirit in the prison-house below. 

For life, though sometimes tearful. 
Yet mostly is as merry as a song : 

A song of the throstle cheerful, 
As he pipes all the summer morning long. 

Say not that life is gloomy, 
As a day in the misty month of rain, 

That joy like the rose is bloomy 
For a week, then lies withered on the plain. 

Oh, no ! there's an endless splendor 
That is throned like a queen upon the hills ; 

And a music low and tender 
In the rushing of the river and the rills. 
206 



LIFE 

Lift up your eyes and gaze on 
The glory of the sunset in the west, 

While the crimson banners blaze on 
The crennellated castle on the crest. 

Is that not beauty golden, 
Paradisal, like the loveliness above, 

Where the saints and psalmists olden 
Bask forever in the summer light of love ? 

Oh, list to the lilting veery, 
As he whistles in the lavender there, 

And say, is his song not cheery, 
Is it not a charm to drive away care ? 

Is not the May worth knowing, 
When the apple-blooms are pink upon the tree. 

And the west winds sweet are blowing 
And the rivulets run laughing to the sea ? 

Oh, say not life is bitter, 
As the dregs and the leavings of the wine; 

That beauty's but the glitter 
Of a dewdrop glistening in the shine, 

While the skies are bright above us, 
And the roses in the south wind blow, 

And the powers of Heaven love us, 
And send us down their blessings here below. 
207 



LIFE 

Oh, no ! while children prattle 
And romp around the garden in play. 

While burbling brooklets brattle, 
And the bells ring out a roundelay, 

This life of ours is splendid, 
As a sunrise dancing on the sea, 

Or the rainbow gently bended, 
Like a rose wreath for you and for me* 



GIVE ME A DAY IN THE HILLS 
FAR AWAY 

Give me a day in the hills far away, 

When the mountain floods are foaming, 
Where the caribou by the torrents blue 

And the elk in herds are roaming ; 
Where the winds are strong as a thunder-song. 

And the skies are clear as beryl, 
And where all is life, vigor and strife, 

Brattle, and battle, and peril. 

Give me a sight of the Titan fight 

Of the bull-moose loudly roaring. 
As the thunder-headed buffaloes crash, 

Buffing and butting and goring : 
Or a shot at the tiger-eagle gray. 

As he drops like lead from heaven. 
On the fox that dies as if the skies 

Had hurtled their bolt of levin. 

209 



GIVE ME A DAY IN THE HILLS 

For I love the hills with their rushing rills, 

The large free life of the forest : 
The whistling breeze and the mountain seas, 

And song of the wildwood chorist ; 
The chase of the deer through brake and brere 

And the bell-mouthed beagle's baying, 
The smell of the pines and the sight of the tines 

Of the elk in the woodland straying. 

And I long to fly from the narrow life 

Of the townsfolk here around me, 
From the musty airs and the petty cares 

That harass, badger, and hound me ; 
I long to stand where the mountains grand 

Are seamed in their savage faces, 
And the hunter free, and florid of blee. 

The deer through the greenwood chases. 



ROSES IN THE SKY 

The rose at your feet, love, is sweet, love, and 
neat, love ; 
But oh ! I have seen a flower fairer by far : 
The ruby you wear, love, is fair, love, I swear, 
love; 
But I have seen gems that were like a red star ! 

The bird overhead, love, you bred, love, is red, 
love, 
Is red as the rose is, and sweet to the ear ; 
But, O love, I know, love, where birds are that 
glow, love, 
Like fire, and whose songs are delicious to hear I 

For there in the west, love, where all is at rest, 
love, 

And Heaven's blue lamel with stammel is shot. 
Are roses of fire, love, and choir after choir, love^ 

Of redbirds that heard once are never forgot ! 

211 



HOSES IN TUE SKT 

And rubies are there, love, so red and so rare, 
love. 
That naught can compare, love, to jewels so 
rich; 
And fire-opals fierce, love, whose gold-lightnings 
pierce, love. 
The pink and the purple and womankind witch ! 

Ah, soon shall we meet, love, 'mid flowers so sweet, 
love ; 
Oh, soon shall our feet, love, the fire-roses press ; 
And soon shall the gold-light of God on the cold- 
light 
Of men break, and show us His own loveliness ! 



THE SUICIDE 

Theee in the meadow a lady lay, 

Sleeping the terrible sleep of death, 
As fine and dainty a piece of clay 

As ever God had informed with breath : 
A beautiful girl with dark brown hair, 

A beautiful girl with dark brown eyes. 
And features rare, and forehead as fair 

As any cherub's in Paradise. 

There by the road in the grasses deep, 

Sweet with the breath of the fragrant thyme. 
The young lady lay like one asleep, 

A smile on her lips as if your chime, 
Beverly bells, in her delicate ear 

The silver song of a seraph seemed. 
Or the accents clear of a mother dear, 

Who bent o'er the girl that slept and dreamed. 

213 



THE SUICIDE 

A beautiful maiden, scarce eighteen, 

With lips that none but the pure might meet, 
As round a throat as ever was seen, 

Delicate hands and delicate feet. 
There, in a garment as pure as light, 

Beside a fallen maple she lay ; 
Her hand so white on the weapon bright 

That blew her butterfly life away. 

The birds sang up in the trees o'erhead, j 

The dragon-flies o'er the meadow flew ; 
The golden bees on the flowers fed. 

And all was sunlight beneath the blue. 
Ah me ! how boisterous, brave, and bold 

Was Life, that frolicked that summer day ; 
And, oh ! how cold on the grassy mould 

Lay Death in the sleep that lasts for aye. 

Ah, why, when the world that morn in June 

Put on her brightest and best attire, 
And lightly danced to a merry tune 

With forehead aglow and eyes afire ; 
Ah ! why should she, the young and the fair, 

When joy like light filled the earth and sky, 
Know sorrow and care and black despair. 

And steal away from the world to die ? 

214 



THE SUICIDE 

Aweary of life at eighteen years ! 

With a faultless form and a perfect face ! 
What was the cause of her bitter tears, 

Love unreturned or fear of disgrace ? 
Was it hope deferred, or a broken trust, 

Or sickness sapping her life away, 
That gave this child to the must and dust? 

Ah ! God alone in the skies can say ! 

Censor, breathe not your poisonous breath 

Over this girl with the angel face. 
Here in the sacred presence of death, 

Pity and grief alone should have place. 
Peace, my brothers ! she's somebody's girl : 

Think of your own little child at home. 
Pure as a pearl and gay as a merle ; 

But will she be so in days to come ? 

Peace, my brothers ! perhaps even now 

Motherly lips a kiss would impress 
Upon the cheek and the marble brow 

Of her who once was her happiness. 
Perchance that mother, half-crazed with fear, 

Calls on her darling over and o'er ; 
But, alas ! her ear too dull to hear 

Will waken to life and love no more. 

215 



THE SUICIDE 

Close up her beautiful eyes of brown, 

Brush back her beautiful chestnut hair, 
Smooth all the rumples out of her gown, 

And fold her hands on her bosom fair. 
Poor little sufferer, let her sleep ! 

Let her sleep, while we fervently pray 
That He may keep, who loveth His sheep, 

Her sorrowful soul for aye and aye ! 



LILACS 

The sunlight of heaven is smiling above, 

And the air is delicious with lilacs : 
The day is as rare as the rainbow of love. 

O lilacs, sing ever of lilacs ! 

The oriole gleams like a gem in the sun, 

And cheerily chirrups of lilacs : 
The rills down the rocks to the riverside run. 

And tinkle of love and of lilacs. 

The bumble-bees over the serpelot sweet 

Hover, and whisper of lilacs ; 
And the squirrels above in their leafy retreat 

Chatter of redolent lilacs. 

The children released from the school on the hill 

Run into the fields for the lilacs ; 
And the miller stands there in the door of the mill, 

And drinks in the fragrance of lilacs. 

217 



LILACS 

Oh, never were sweeter flowers under the sun 

Than lilacs, delectable lilacs ; 
And, oh, when my life and my labor be done, 

Let me lie underneath the sweet lilacs. 



VARIEL 

Winds, blow soft over Variel's mound, 

Winds blow gently and whisper low ; 
For the sweetest child in the whole wide round 

Of the world lies here in her shroud of snow. 
Blow gentle breezes, but softly stir, 

Wake not the little one sleeping there, 
Wake not the poor weary heart of her 

Who once was as gay as the flower is fair ! 

Shine summer sun on her lowly grave ; 

Shine on her tomb, for she loved you so : 
Loved you as sailor lads love the wave, 

And basked for hours in your golden glow. 
Shine out and warm her, she's cold and chill. 

Warm with your breath her little white hands 
That are folded fair on her breast so still, 

Fingers inlocked with their golden bands ! 
219 



VARIEL 

Birds sing sweetly beside this tomb : 

Song-birds sing, but, oh, soft and low ; 
For a maid lies here that had once the bloom 

Of sunset-pink on a field of snow. 
Whippoorwill whistle, and field-lark lilt, 

Oriole chirrup the May-time through ; 
For her heart was purer than sunlight spilt 

On a field of flowers impearled with dew ! 

Roses blossom on Variel's grave, 

For she was a Rose as red as you. 
Lilacs over the lily-maid wave. 

For ye were the choice of her heart so true : 
Beautiful mary-buds sweeten the air, 

For hers was as sweet as a life could be. 
Jessamine mingle with marigold fair 

To murmur of one that was fairer than ye ! 

Oh, if ye knew what a gem lies here 

Hidden away in the earth below ; 
Oh, if ye knew what a melody rare 

Lies froze fore'er in her throat of snow ! 
But only one heart knows the worth of her. 

Only one soul knew her soul so sweet, — 
Poor little Variel under the fir, 

A crown at her head and a cross at her feet ! 



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